


Half Agony, Half Hope

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01), Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lovers to Friends, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, University, persuasion au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: Sherlock Holmes knows the name Molly Hooper very well. But he hasn't laid eyes on her for many years. It feels like a lifetime ago. But when he's finally forced to see her again, memories and regrets come crashing in. He'll be forced to come to terms with their past, and will find himself daring to wonder if there might be some hope for their future.**1st place winner in the 2017 SAMFA for Best Romance in K-T****1st place winner (tied) in the 2017 SAMFA for Best AU in K-T**





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! This fic was born from the mind of the always amazing Lexie. The second she brought up the possibility of a Persuasion (by Jane Austen) AU for Sherlolly I was ON BOARD. We did a lot of plot planning (mostly her though, holy outlining Batman lol) and decided that this would be an excellent way to drown our sorrows after s4. Little did we know there would be very few sherlolly sorrows by the end of the series lol, but still, this is our special post s4 project. :)   
> Full credit to this prologue goes to Lexie herself. It was her idea to have a little prologue at the start and she decided to give it a try. So all kudos to her for this one because she wrote every word! And I do believe she was right. This was the best way to start the fic. :)

Molly bit her bottom lip and did her best not to check her watch once more.

“I’m sure he’ll be along any moment now, Molls,” Meena said, smiling at her and squeezing her hand.

Molly adjusted the bouquet in her hand, the small delicate lily of the valley resting nicely against the lavender before letting her eyes wander out the window again.

_Where was Sherlock?_

“Maybe he’s lost?” Coreen spoke up before Meena elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Not helping,” she hissed through clenched teeth, but Molly let out a giggle in response.

“Meena, it’s fine,” she smiled brightly at her friend. “You know Sherlock. I’m sure he’s gotten caught up arguing with his brother about the rings or something. Never could resist a good row.”

“Really, I suppose it’s hard to find Scotland’s First House,” Coreen went out.

“I swear to God, Cor, I’m going to stuff your socks in your mouth,” Meena bit out.

“Miss, I don’t mean to rush you,” the older man who was to officiate spoke to Molly in a low and gentle voice, and it made her insides twist.

“Just a few more minutes, please,” she replied, trying not to let her voice shake as a cold coil of fear began to form in her stomach.

They’d agreed on Gretna Green just a week ago, lying together in the afterglow, his fingers running up and down the skin of her back. She’d been shocked at first that he would agree to her proposal, shocked that she would even voice it, but in that moment she was never so sure that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. They’d been together for nearly two years, and she was to go to medical school in less than a year, and he was finishing up his graduate studies. The timing was perfect so she’d just...proposed.

She would never forget the look in his eyes when he gazed at her after the words had been inscrutable and for a few agonizing moments Molly wondered if she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t until he slowly smiled and kissed her deeply that those feelings dissipated, her joy bubbling up as laughter as Sherlock covered her face in kisses, insisting on getting married as soon as was humanly possible.

Which is how she was standing here, in a simple white dress, holding a small bouquet of white and purple flowers, waiting for her bridegroom.

“Does Sherlock drive a posh car?” Coreen’s voice broke through, making Molly turn towards his voice. “Looks like government issue.”

“Ha! Maybe Big Brother approves afterall,” Meena chimed in, coming over and smoothing back Molly’s hair and giving her a wink. Molly thanked the stars for her best friend.

Molly nodded at the officiate, and he returned it before coming around to the other side of the desk.

“Molly Hooper?”

Everyone in the room turned toward the man in a dark suit standing in the doorway.

“Yes?”

Molly watched with curiosity as the man walked towards her, pulling out a letter from his inner pocket and placing it in her hands. Her confusion grew deeper as she saw her name scratched out in Sherlock’s hand on the outside of the envelope.

Meena watched her friend’s face pale for a moment as she read the contents of the letter, her lips thinning and her breathing growing shallow. She stared a little while at the bottom of the letter before carefully folding it back up and placing it inside the envelope. Molly walked over to the chair that held her purse and placed the letter inside before pulling out a handful of pound notes and handing them off to the officiate.

“Thank you, and this is for your time. There will be no wedding today,” she said in a soft voice.

Meena’s jaw dropped in shock as she saw Molly turn away and walk out the door, the echo of a sob carrying down the hallway as she stared at the gathering of small flowers on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 2 is already written, (and that one I actually wrote myself lol) so I'll be posting that soon as well. Hopefully this AU idea is as fun to you guys as it is to Lexie and I! Thanks for reading! ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this isn't a fluffy fic to start out. There's going to be plenty of angst and sad feels, especially for poor Sherls. But hopefully you know me well enough by now to know that it won't be like that forever. ;)

Sherlock reached further back into the fridge and grabbed a little bowl of something appealing. He lifted it toward where Mary was sitting with Rosie. “It this for the baby?”

“Yes,” she answered with a little smile.

“And by baby do you mean me?” He could read her tone pretty accurately by now.

“You know where the spoons are,” Mary added, offering Rosie some more food in her highchair. “There’s only one baby I feed here.”

Sherlock glanced at his watch while grabbing a spoon from the drawer. He only had a few minutes to have a snack before he’d have to be off again.

“Hi,” John announced his presence as he came walking into the kitchen. He promptly did a little double take at the sight of Sherlock leaning against his fridge and eating a bowl of custard.

“Afternoon, John,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Not to worry, I’ll be leaving soon. Just thought I’d pop in to say hello.”

“And have a bite,” John added, eyeing what was likely a snack he’d wanted for himself.

"Oh and you'll be leaving again soon as well," Sherlock added.

“Hang on, why am I leaving? I just got home.”

"I think you two have plans.” Mary got up and kissed his confused face while making her way over to grab a cloth to wipe Rosie’s face.

John sighed. "Why? What's going on?"

“Double homicide, John,” Sherlock explained with his mouth full. “Don’t you track the news?”

“Ok so did Lestrade ask you for help?”

"No." Sherlock grinned. "But he's going to."

A moment later, the Watson’s doorbell rang.

“Ah yes, that’s for me,” Sherlock announced cheerily. He set his snack down and made his way happily to the door.

“How did you know to tell me where to find you this morning?” Lestrade asked while following Sherlock back to the kitchen. He paused to say hello to the Watsons. “That story just hit the news an hour ago!”

“Homeless network,” Sherlock explained simply, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and cracking it open to take a swig. “Faster than the media at times.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Ok well, anyway, I’m gonna need your help on this one.”

“Obviously.” He shrugged his coat back over his shoulders. “You coming, John?”

“Apparently,” John answered wearily, leaning over to kiss Rosie and Mary. “It’s your turn next time, ok?”

“Just try and stop me,” Mary said with a wink at both John and Sherlock.

Twenty minutes later the three men were strolling down the long hallways in the basement of Bart’s hospital, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent space. They pushed through the doors of the morgue and one of the familiar pathologists greeted them. He gestured to the two bodies that were laid out and then began rattling off some information from a clipboard.

"Yes, yes, we already know all of that, thank you," Sherlock stated impatiently. "What I need you to do is to do a DNA test on them."

The young man looked confused. "Oh um...I don't know if-"

"I'm sure you will discover that they are in fact related."

"Sherlock, the victims don't know each other," Lestrade countered.

"And if you were listening, you'll note that I said  _ related,  _ which is not necessarily the same thing as knowing someone. I'd think you can spot the difference."

Lestrade sighed, then looked at the pathologist. "Yeah ok, go ahead and do what he says."

"Well it might take some time," the man stated hesitantly.

"Yes, obviously," Sherlock agreed. "So you'll need to begin the process immediately."

"I'll have to run it by my boss though."

Sherlock turned on him and glared. "Run it by your boss? This is a murder investigation and the Inspector has told you to proceed with these instructions. What exactly is more pressing?"

"Well, it's just that she told me I had to check any changes with her first. She'll actually be back in five or ten minutes. If you'd like to wait, you can speak to her yourself."

"Yes, perhaps I would," Sherlock said haughtily. "And exactly which boss is this you're speaking of? Is it that idiot Dr. Andrews?"

"No, I'm talking about the new head of pathology, Dr. Hooper."

Something short circuited in Sherlock's chest and for a moment he forgot how to take a breath. He stared back at the man wide eyed for a moment. "W-what did you say?" he finally questioned.

"I said Dr. Hooper," he repeated. "Dr. Molly Hooper started just this week."

"Sherlock?" John questioned, clearly noticing that his friend had gone mute.

"So...did you want to wait for her?" the pathologist asked.

Sherlock blinked and then cleared his throat. "I- no that won't be necessary. You may speak to her for us. Just start the process as soon as possible." He began walking out of the morgue almost before he'd finished his sentence, the two men rushing to follow after him.

"What was that?" John questioned as Sherlock headed for the nearest exit.

"What was what?"

"Why did you just decide to leave? I thought you wanted to speak to his boss."

"It would have been a waste of time," he answered quickly. "Lestrade, you may follow up."

Lestrade frowned. "What? You don't want to?"

"I'm rather busy."

"This is our only case right now," John commented, exchanging a look with Lestrade.

Sherlock didn't bother trying to explain himself further as they made their way out of the building and onto the street.

"Text me when you have any new details," he said to Lestrade and made his way to one of the cabs sitting idle. "This one is mine."

Sherlock jumped in and instructed the cabbie to drive, leaving his two friends in a state of utter confusion on the street outside of Bart's hospital.

And as he sat there alone in the silence of that cab, that was when the memories came crashing in on him. The months and months worth of memories, most of which he'd convinced himself he'd successfully deleted.

He hadn't though, if he were honest with himself. No, they didn't always surface. But in the deepest darkest hours of the night they would haunt the halls of his mind palace over these eight long years. But at least they had only been memories. Shadows and echoes and ghosts; nothing truly real. He supposed he could handle that. He’d lived with it this long, and he assumed he could go on living with it longer still. He’d lived with that invisible illness that ate away from the inside and was never completely sated. The plague of regret. But even that, he believed he could survive. Because at least he’d been spared one thing. Well, up till now.

He hadn’t been forced to see her.

Yes, he knew everything there was to know about Molly Hooper already. It was all stored safely in his mind. Every outline and contour of her face and body, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair, the feel of her hands, and the taste of her lips and skin. He was well aware he’d never be rid of any of that. But to live it and experience it in person again…it seemed far too great a weight to bear. And he worried that it might just break him all over again.

Molly had wanted so much. She’d wanted things that she had every right to. Things that she deserved. Likely she’d finally gotten those things now. Sherlock felt a dull ache in his chest as he wondered who might be coming to London with Molly as she accepted this new job. He'd kept up with her professionally but had resisted the temptation of digging into any details about her personal life. But now he wondered...would she be bringing a husband? Perhaps even children? In some ways he hoped so. She deserved to have the happiness she was so cruelly deprived of earlier in life.

Sherlock stared out the cab window at the busy streets of London that rushed by him. He’d come so far over the years, making a career and a name for himself. And so had Molly. She had the career she’d dreamed of since she was young. Both of them had made something of themselves in almost every way in which a person could. And by any estimation, both their lives were success stories. He did attempt to remind himself of those things very often. But beneath those things, that persistent regret lurked and superseded much of that supposed success for him. Perhaps his feelings could partly be attributed to the passage of time and all that he’d learned about the world, and people, and mostly about himself. But whatever the reason, one thing was very sure to him now.

He now thought very differently from how he was persuaded to think some eight years before.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, some sherlolly interactions will begin in the next chapter. ;)  
> Oh and in case you hadn't noticed already, it's now official that Lexie and I are co authors for this fic. Yay! We're awfully excited to be teaming up for this one! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned yet that this fic gives me some serious "Pleased To Meet You" nostalgia? Ok, well it does. :)

_ Sherlock stops his movements for a moment, his ears straining to hear over the sound of the refrigeration unit. It’s dark but for the torch he’s holding between his teeth. He has about two minutes to find the right batch of jars. Thankfully, it was fairly easy to locate the day’s test samples, and he grinned as he spotted the Holmes, William S. label. Pulling the new label out of his pocket, he quickly stripped the label and stuck on the one reading MacDonald, Clark.  _

_ No sooner he placed the jar in its place did the lights flickered to life, and his time was officially up.  _

_ He held his breath, hoping that if he kept perfectly still, the employee that had come in wouldn’t see him. _

_ “Who’s there?” _

_ His luck really wasn’t holding out tonight. _

_ “Would you believe the ghost of Christmas past?” _

_ A frown. A turn to scream. _

_ “No! Please, don’t call for help! I won’t hurt you, I was just…” He looked around quickly. “Got lost?” _

_ “How did you even get in here?” The refrigerated walk-in unit was not very old, but the latch could easily be rigged to be able to open from the inside. And it definitely was not monitored the way that it should be, considering the amount of testing material kept in it.  _

_ His sample for this term’s surprise drugs test, for example. _

_ Sherlock clicked his torch off and lifted his hands, slowly turning the corner of the shelving to face the person who’d caught him. His eyes quickly flickered over her form, gathering as much data as possible in the seconds before she decided to scream for help after all.  _

_ His age, single, a volunteer not an employee, right handed, student, cat lover, hard worker, shy. _

_ And into him, if the blowing out of her pupils was anything to go by. _

_ Sherlock smiled crookedly, dropping his head a bit so that his fringe would drop into his eyes for a bit in a way that he knew was effective. “I’m sorry, you’ve caught me. I’m afraid I’m at your mercy.” _

_ She visibly swallowed and tightened the grip on the tray of samples she was carrying. “Y-you really shouldn’t be in here. There’s sensitive materials and--” _

_ “I’m really very sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I really did get turned around in the hallway and thought this might have led to the morgue. I’ve always been curious, you see.” He glanced around. “It seems that I would have made my way down there regardless, but this would really have been the long way ‘round.” _

_ She still seemed unsure, and Sherlock moved closer. “You won’t let anyone know that was that much of a pillock, will you…” He leaned over and read the name on her tag. “Molly?” _

_ She was flat out blushing now, and seemed to swallow thickly. “I suppose...it’s a mistake.” She set the tray she had brought in the first place down in its place before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But maybe you, should, um, g-go before we both get in trouble?” _

_ “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” he asked as they both walked out of the walk-in cold storage.  _

_ She smiled at him and shook her head as she shut and latched the door, blush more evident in the brighter lights of the hall. “Nothing to tell,” she said with a giggle. “But next time I’ll leave you in there. If I’m lucky I’ll get to do the autopsy!” _

_ Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up at that and Molly’s face burst into a deep red. “Oh! Oh no, that’s not--I didn’t mean--I don’t want you dead, I mean. Not that they’d let me in the morgue--or that you belong there--oh God.”  _

_ He felt himself blinking at her stammering, but only for a moment as he adjusted his deductions of her. Recovering faster than she did, he smiled to put her at ease.  _

_ “Well, if they do let you into the morgue to perform autopsies, I’m sure I would be honored to be there too. Though maybe not on the slab?” _

_ She giggled nervously in response, and Sherlock was sure that she would in no way question what exactly he’d been up to in cold storage of drug test samples. _

_ As he gave her a small salute and walked off down the hallway towards the exit, he wondered how quickly that idiot MacDonald would be expelled when they found heroin in his piss. _

* * *

 

“No, honestly, Mary, it was so bizarre,” John said, shaking his head as they strolled in the park after work. “I’m telling you, he doesn’t want to work with this woman. I don’t know why, but it’s so obvious that he doesn’t.”

“And he won’t say if he knows her?” Mary asked, linking her arm with John’s as they walked.

“Not exactly. He said he knows her work, whatever that means.”

“Well she is in pathology and she’s published some papers, so I suppose that could be enough to catch Sherlock’s interest.” 

Mary had looked up this Dr. Molly Hooper the previous day when John had come home with yet another strange situation involving the new employee of Bart’s. Apparently Dr. Hooper had formulated a report on an unidentified murder victim that day, and Inspector Lestrade was unavailable to review it until much later. He phoned John, who tended to actually answer, and asked if Sherlock could stop by the hospital and have a peek at the case and the body. The moment that John voiced such a request to the previously mopey and bored detective, he became shifty eyed and jumpy. He announced angrily that he couldn’t be expected to run errands for the Inspector simply because he couldn’t work his precious schedule around an unsolved crime. Sherlock claimed that he had far more pressing things to do than obey every whim of Scotland Yard...and then he’d marched out of 221B. John was left having to make apologies to Greg and wonder what in the world he’d just witnessed.

“It’s got to be about more than her research. But he’s not saying. If I was being fanciful, I’d think he knew her at some point and maybe didn’t want to work with her for some reason.”

“Since when is Sherlock shy about voicing opinions on people?” Mary asked with a wry smile. 

John snorted in response. “That would be the day.”

“Just ask him, John,” Mary urged. “You can only figure out so much by guessing.”

He smiled at her. “Isn’t that what I have you for?”

She turned her head up toward him and caught his lips as he leaned over. “It is,” she agreed softly as he pulled away. “But I can’t make everything too easy for you.”

John grinned at his wife and bid farewell for the rest of the evening. He was headed to Baker St again and Mary had to grab Rosie from the sitter. And today, he decided that Mary was right. He absolutely had to get to the bottom of the mystery of Dr. Molly Hooper.

* * *

 

“Idiots,” Sherlock muttered to himself as he scrolled through emails. He closed his mail page and glanced at the file he had saved on his laptop home screen. He often read if when he was bored, but it seemed an awfully bad idea now…

*click*

Boredom did tend to bring about bad decisions.

Sherlock picked out her first published paper, reading the wording carefully, oh so carefully. It was all science and evidence and explanations, but somehow, he could always manage to hear her familiar voice in those words. He could pick out the subtle bits of  _ Molly _ in there. He’d read her published papers more times that he liked to admit. For many years, that had been the only way he could hear that voice.

John opened the door to the flat and entered the sitting room. “Oh good, out of your pajamas, then.”

Sherlock quickly closed the file and shut his laptop, standing and buttoning his suit jacket. 

“Afternoon, John. We have to meet Lestrade at a crime scene. He’s waiting for us.”

Sherlock and John caught a cab a few minutes later and headed to the shop Lestrade had requested they meet him at. They arrived at the scene that was full of police and emergency vehicles and were waved in by the Inspector.

As they walked in, they caught sight of the shop keeper who was slumped over the counter, dead from a bullet to the brain.

“The front and back doors were locked. No signs of a break in. His employee found him like this when she came in this morning,” Greg explained. 

“And the employee?” John asked as Sherlock circled the body.

“We questioned her but I don’t think she had anything to do with it. He died last night and she has an airtight alibi.”

“His keys?” Sherlock asked.

“What?”

“Where are the shop owners keys?” he repeated. “Have you found them?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly searched for his keys…”

Sherlock stepped away from the body, pulled gloves out of his pocket and put them on, and began searching behind the counter and also in the pockets of the deceased man.

“Nothing here,” he concluded. “We need records of everyone who came and went yesterday. Someone likely pinched the keys so that they could return near closing time without having to bother with a break in and then lock up as if the murder occurred after hours. Naturally, in that case, an employee would be suspected. Clever.”

“Suppose it would be if you’re right,” Greg agreed.

“If I’m right,” Sherlock parroted with a laugh. He continued looking over the dead man for a moment when he heard the bell of the shop door as it swung open. 

“Oh good, you’re here,” Greg exclaimed. “Really appreciate the effort. I gave Anderson the day off since I know how it can go when he’s on the scene. Sherlock doesn’t always play nice!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he straightened up again. Yes, he did appreciate the lack of Anderson today, though surely any other of Lestrade’s colleagues couldn’t be much of an improvement.

“No problem,” she replied.

Sherlock froze where he stood and his blood ran cold. John frowned at him, seeing the noticeable change as his heart sank. He knew that now he was stuck. There was no escape. In a moment, he’d have to turn around. He’d be forced to participate in introductions, perhaps shake her hand, see that smile, that shimmer in her brown eyes...all of it. Of course, he’d known very well that it couldn’t have been avoided forever. He simply hadn’t expected it to be now. 

Sherlock drew a breath and turned.

There she stood. Really, not looking all that much different from the first day he saw her in that hospital cold storage some ten years before. If he were perfectly honest with himself, she was even more beautiful. The years had been kind to her. Far kinder than he had been. 

“Sherlock, this is Dr. Molly Hooper. She’s head of pathology at Bart’s now. She’s been great to work with!” Greg stated warmly. “Dr. Hooper, this is Sherlock Holmes. He’s a detective, who I’m sure you’ve heard of, and he works with my department from time to time. Don’t let him walk all over you at the hospital!” He chuckled.

Sherlock forced his head to move, inclining ever so slightly as he gave her the ghost of a smile. “Doctor Hooper,” he stated simply.

He had already been taken aback by the unexpected meeting, but Molly’s general reaction and body language was enough to throw him into even further mental disarray.

Her gaze was barely readable as she stared back at him, and it certainly wasn’t friendly. She barely moved her lips into what could be called a smile.

“Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock perceived an awkward moment before John extended his hand to introduce himself. “Doctor John Watson, it’s lovely to meet you.” Her responding smile to him was much warmer.

“Probably seen the blog then,” Greg went on. “About their cases.”

Molly looked back and forth briefly between Greg, John and Sherlock and then gave her head a little shake. “Um...no I don’t think so.” She gave John an apologetic smile.

Despite himself, Sherlock frowned deeply. She hadn’t seen anything of his work? If that was true, that must mean she’d chosen to follow literally nothing to do with him or his work all these years. She used to be fascinated by his professional aspirations. He thought that at the very least perhaps she would have been pleased at where his life had taken him after they’d parted ways. The idea that she didn’t care was...well, it hurt.

Sherlock straightened his back, hardened his gaze, and cleared his throat.

“Yes, well now that necessary introductions have been made, perhaps we can actually get back to solving a case,” he stated gruffly, wanting very desperately to focus on the task at hand now. “It’s quite obvious what happened here last night.”

“I’ll take a look at the body,” Molly offered, stepping over.

Sherlock felt momentarily dizzy.  _ Oh God, she smells the same. How is that possible after all these years? _

“Sherlock?” John’s voice cut through his momentary mental lapse and brought him back to focus.

“It’s obvious how it happened,” Sherlock repeated, stepping out from behind the counter. “He was shot from...about here. Likely a 38 caliber hand gun based on the shape of the entry wound. Trajectory suggests it was someone no taller than 5’8”, and the type of gun suggests it was likely a man, one that was recently dismissed from his employment, having PTSD. The victim fell forward, the killer left him where he lay, no love lost there, and then they used the keys to lock up.” 

“I’ll need to do a proper post mortem,” Molly said to Greg. “But I’d agree with that initial assessment of the gun type at least.”

“Ok great.” Greg looked at his watch. “They should be ready to move the body soon, and then you can just take it from there. You can let me know when you’ve got the final report.” He stopped before walking away. “Oh actually, why don’t you just get in touch with Sherlock? He can stop by and have a look when you’re done. He loves that stuff.”

Sherlock’s heart thudded so hard in his chest that he worried it might burst through his shirt. He had no option to back out now. Any refusal to work with her at this point would only serve to alert everyone and doubtless prompt digging into his personal history with her. He wanted no questions, wanted to explain nothing...he would chose to  _ remember _ nothing if possible, but that wasn’t an option.

“That’s fine. You can text me his contact information and I’ll be in touch.” Molly glanced at Sherlock after addressing Greg, but only long enough to acknowledge the arrangement as she snapped the gloves off of her hands.

“Pleasure to meet you,” John said with a smile, offering Molly another handshake.

“You as well, Dr. Watson,” she agreed warmly. 

Sherlock passed her as he and John began walking out of the shop. “Dr. Hooper,” he stated again.

As the words slipped from his lips again, he was unable to forget the fact that he used to call her that affectionately, long before she rightly held the title. He knew she would one day. He wondered if some of those terms of endearment, whispered soft and low during sometimes intimate moments could have crossed her mind as well. But the look on her face would suggest otherwise.

“Mr. Holmes,” she replied with a tight smile. “I’ll be in touch.”

He nodded and exited the shop as quickly as possible, gulping in a breath of cool air as he stepped outside and began walking briskly down the street in search of a cab, only half listening to what John was saying. 

In a way, he supposed there was a bittersweet sort of relief that had just been handed to him. It was done. The moment of finally coming face to face again with Molly Hooper was over. It was awful and he hated every moment of it, but at least it was done now. And now he could focus on moving forward and perhaps comfortably working with her when needed. He wondered if he’d be able to someday accomplish what she had been able to. She was so incredibly indifferent; almost like a stranger. But no, he admitted to himself with a heavy heart. 

What they were now was worse than strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh poor Sherlock, he is definitely getting hit with the feels. Those memories of the past are going to haunt him like crazy now. Hope you enjoyed this latest one and we'll see you next week! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock emitted a deep sigh. He stared up at his ceiling, his hands clasped across his abdomen, wondering if it would do to shoot a few holes up there…

He heard John get up from his chair at the sound of footsteps entering. Mary’s footsteps, to be precise. He could tell.

“Mary, hey,” John said, stepping over to kiss her cheek. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Well I’m just on my way to the sitter’s to grab Rosie and I thought I’d see how your two were getting on today.”

Sherlock could practically feel her gaze as it wandered over to where he lay on the couch. Clearly she noticed his admittedly foul mood.

John answered with attempted diplomacy. “Yeah well, the case is, you know...going.”

“Hard at work, eh?” Mary commented toward Sherlock which earned a muffled grunt. “Well I just had coffee with a colleague of yours and had the _loveliest_ time. I’m so glad I sought her out!”

Sherlock lurched up, twisting his head around to glance at the Watson’s. “Colleague? What colleague?”

“You know, Dr. Molly Hooper.”

Sherlock’s lips set in a hard line as he turned around again and slammed his head back against the pillow. “Sought her out, did you?” He wagged his head a bit.

“Mm, I did. John mentioned her last week after you two saw her on that crime scene. She sounded like a gem to me, and I was absolutely right!”

“Ooh,” John exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “You know, that reminds me, I was supposed to find out if she’s single.”

Sherlock nearly broke his neck whipping his head around this time.

“Oh were you?” Mary asked in a sing song voice.

“Well Greg said something to me the other day. He was wondering and said to let him know if I found anything out.”

“And why exactly is _Greg_ wondering?!” Sherlock spat out, unable to contain his mounting horror.

“She’s adorable and brilliant, Sherlock,” Mary answered with a laugh. “And Greg isn’t blind. That’s why.”

He launched himself off the couch with the flourish of his dressing gown. “Oh yes, must pounce on someone seeing as the lonely Inspector’s divorce has been final for a full, oh what was it? Two weeks now? Give or take a couple days,” he added with a wave of his hand. “God knows he shouldn’t be expected to function on his own for any longer than that! Oh no! Anything close to a full month would be bordering on cruel and unusual!”

He finished his rant while marching past the Watsons, down the hall, and into his bedroom, all while trying to ignore the glance that the couple exchanged.

“Right, ok,” John muttered, clearing his throat. “Mary, why don’t we um, step out here to talk so Sherlock can continue to think about his current case, hm?”

Curiosity got the better of the consulting detective when he barely heard John's words, and he couldn’t help but softly pad his way out of his bedroom a bit and down the hall just enough to hear what was being said outside the doorway.

“So how did things go the other day?” Mary asked John in a hushed voice that Sherlock could still manage to hear. “I mean with Sherlock and that case.”

“Oh fine, yeah it was fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well I was just wondering if you found anything out that day. You know, about Dr. Hooper.”

“Well yeah, we met her that day at the crime scene, but-” Sherlock could sense John’s pause as he observed his wife. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“So that’s all?” Mary asked, not actually answering her husband’s question. “You met her but you didn’t get any more information from Sherlock about why he’d been acting so strange about her?”

John was clearly beginning to get the impression he was missing something. “Nothing specific. But I didn’t ask because I watched them get introduced. Greg introduced them and they clearly didn’t already know each other.”

Mary giggled a little and Sherlock’s jaw tightened painfully. This was not good.

John let out a sigh. “Ok, you know something, don’t you?”

“Mm, I might,” she hummed playfully as John groaned. “Ok ok, I’ll tell you.” Mary paused for effect. “Would you believe that Molly was in university with Sherlock?”

Sherlock physically winced at the sound of the words. There it was. Now he’d never have a moment’s peace.

John stammered out a hushed reply. “W- in university? With Sherlock?”

“That’s right. There certainly has been something Sherlock wasn’t saying. I guess the only question now is how well they knew each other.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I didn’t want to push too much. She got a little tight lipped even when I brought up Sherlock and asked if she had ever met him before. I took the hint and dropped it after that. But I think we really got on, so hopefully she’ll feel more comfortable with me and open up a bit more another time.”

 _Oh for the love of God, no_ , Sherlock pleaded silently. He debated whether or not to step in and end this gossip session.  

“In Uni together…” John marveled. “I can’t believe that. Why wouldn't he say? I mean, you don’t think that maybe...they were...”

“Oh I absolutely think it’s possible,” Mary agreed with a little thrill in her tone that made Sherlock sweat.

Mary clicked her tongue. “I’m not sure she’s single now though.”

Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat.

“Really?”

“Yeah, she mentioned a Tom. He’s some sort of close friend of hers, but I could tell they were involved, or at least had been. There’s something there, that’s for sure.”

“Well considering Sherlock’s history with Molly Hooper and being unsure if she’s even currently single, I’d say I’ll need to tell Greg to take a step back.”

Sherlock released a breath, grateful for small miracles. It was difficult enough to see her again, the last thing he needed was to watch one of his friends attempt to swoop in and woo the lost love of his life.

It seemed the universe was in no mood to be lazy at the moment...because that was the moment when the doorbell rang. Firm, less than three seconds long.

Client.

Thank God.  

* * *

 

He hated the way his heart sped up as the cab slowed in front of the hospital. Yes, this was what he wanted, but he had to admit that it wasn’t easy.

He carefully trained his focus on the woman who’d come into the sitting room and brought the ransom note for her husband, a businessman who’d obviously angered the wrong people.

John had accompanied him to the kidnapped man’s home, but after some samples had been collected Sherlock had kindly offered to let his friend go home early enough for dinner with his family. Based on his expression, John wasn’t under any illusions about this offer, but mercifully he didn’t voice his opinions and simply agreed to leave Sherlock on his own to go test the samples.

The the lack of police involvement of course meant going to Barts.

And really, enough was enough. While Sherlock would never admit to sulking, there had been enough of that now: he had a job to do and long lost love or not, he wasn’t going to let his personal _sentiments_ get in the way of The Work. Molly had already shown that she was willing to be a professional, and it was time for him to step up and do the same.

Sherlock straightened his shoulders as he finally entered the lab and was greeted by the sight of her petite form, back turned and as she worked at one of the tables. He stood there for a brief moment before finally clearing his throat as he approached. As she turned to see him, he thought he saw the very briefest flash of...something in her eyes. Something a bit less cool and collected than their last encounter the week before. But then it was gone as soon as he’d noticed it.

“Hello, Sherlock,” she stated flatly, turning again for a moment again to collect some needed supplies. “John texted me already. So you have some samples from the kidnapping?”

“I do,” he confirmed. “Some bits or dirt from shoes and also a piece of fabric from a shirt that the victim’s wife says is not her husbands. He likely fought and tore something off one of the suspects.”

“More than one?” She handed him gloves.

“There are two distinct patterns of dirt from shoes in the victim’s home, and neither of them belong to anyone in the family. Not surprising that more than one person would be needed to take a grown man alive.”

“Mm,” she agreed.

And just like that, it was like no time had passed at all.

They flowed together in the lab together as if they’d never been apart, conversation kept to findings and requests for supplies. As usual, she made the perfect assistant.

There was no time to waste, and The Work would not wait, but he did manage to spare a thought of relief to know that professionally at least, they could still work so well together.

* * *

 

_Sherlock smiled as he closed the black velvet box with a snap. He was taking a risk, of course, since it’s likely that both rings would have to be resized, but that was a minor wrinkle. He wondered for a moment how long it would take Mummy to notice. He walked into the hallway out of his parents’ bedroom and practically bounced down the steps._

_“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”_

_Of course. It had all been too easy._

_“Hello, brother mine,” Sherlock turned to face the older Holmes, stepping around him towards the backdoor. “How unsurprising to see you, really must dash, have an important appointment.”_

_Mycroft Holmes stood like a black crow in the warmth of the sitting room.“You’re not going to Gretna Green tomorrow.” His tone didn’t allow for any contradiction._

_Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, whirling around to face his archenemy. “Aren’t I?”_

_“No, Sherlock, you’re not.”_

_The calm and surety in Mycroft’s voice made something cold coil in Sherlock’s stomach. But he wouldn’t allow it to come through, wrapping bravado around him like a shield. “Looks like Her Majesty’s armed forces couldn’t be bothered for you today.” He gave his brother a placating smile. “Bad luck, old man. But you’re welcome to try again some other time. Laterz.” Sherlock turned to carry on with his intended exit._

_“Oh Sherlock, you always were the stupid one.” Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh that froze Sherlock in his tracks. “Playing the dangerous game, getting involved,” the older man went out, their eyes meeting. “And tell me: just how long do you think you’ll keep from Miss Hooper how often you’re really still...indulging in your darker habits?”_

_“Shut up, Mycroft,” Sherlock spit out, hackles rising, old resentments churning. He knew exactly what he was doing in that moment, and he didn’t want to hear one more smug word about it from Mycroft’s mouth. “I’m not stupid. In fact, I would say that for once, I’m being quite clever.”_

_“Is that so?” The look in Mycroft’s eyes gave him a bit of a chill. “Do I have to remind you about Redbeard, little brother?”_

_Sherlock grit his teeth. “You aren’t going to scare me, Mycroft. I’m not a child anymore, it won’t work.”_

_“What have I told you about the East Wind, Sherlock?”_

_Sherlock ignored the chill the went up his spine, and had to restrain himself from automatically scratching the itch that had very recently begun in his inner arm. “Stop it.”_

_“You will understand, little brother.” Mycroft’s voice softened fractionally. “For your own good. For the good of this poor girl who wouldn’t know how to handle you or anything else that’s part of your life.”_

_Sherlock let out a low growl. “You don’t know anything about her.”_

_“Five minutes, Sherlock. And then I’ll let you decide for yourself.”_

_“Three.”_

_“Very well. Perhaps you should sit down.”_

_\----_

_“She should know not to wait.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Perhaps you should ring up the place?”_

_“No. I...if I talk to her, she’ll know.”_

_“A letter, then.”_

_“Fine. You know how to forge my writing by now. I..._ she’ll know. _”_

_“Very well. And Sherlock? Please do remember to make a list.”_

* * *

 

Sherlock leaned against the hospital wall late that night, glancing at his watch and still considering whether this was the right thing to do. He told himself again that it was and that this was part of what he needed to do. They’d been so rushed that afternoon and had barely spared a moment to say two words to each other that weren’t connected to matches for the samples. They’d worked well together professionally, yes, but they were still engulfed in a cloud of the unspoken and unresolved. Sherlock had no intention of rehashing their entire history that night, but he did want to be absolutely certain that they were on the path to a comfortable working relationship.

Molly exited the lab and shut and locked the door, turning and promptly freezing at the sight of him.

“Hello again,” he said, straightening up and clasping his hands behind him.

“You found him?”

Sherlock nodded. “I did...largely due to your skillful assistance.”

This elicited a brief smile from her lips as he went on.

“Which is why I came back to thank you. Given the circumstance, I appreciate your…” He swallowed thickly. “Professionalism.”

Molly caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment and shrugged. “I’m just doing my job. That's always been important to me. I love my work.”

Sherlock smiled in answer, despite the fact that her lips weren’t as kind in return. The two of them stayed like that for a moment, stuck in the rut that they’d dug for themselves, and Sherlock began to wonder if this would be a slower process than he had originally hoped. She used to be so warm, so yielding, so giving in every possible way. And now she didn’t seem to want to budge even an inch. Not that he blamed her, but even still, the icy look in her eyes was enough to punish him for the rest of his days.

Clearly there was no more he could accomplish for now. He’d done all he could and decided it was time to take his leave.

“Well, thank you again, Molly Hooper,” he murmured with a little nod. “Good night.”

He didn’t linger after that, turning instantly and taking strides away toward the exit. He was honestly shocked at the sound of her suddenly more animated voice behind him.

“Wait!”

He turned, a little wide eyed as she approached and met him halfway.

She looked up at him and licked her lips before giving him a smile...a real smile, albeit small. She released a breath while adjusting her bag over her shoulder and opening her mouth to speak.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly. “I was um...I was glad to help, Sherlock. Really.” Another little smile graced her lips, this one actually reaching her eyes.

His own breath was caught in his throat as he listened to the sound of the first friendly words from her that he’d heard in years. And his eyes devoured the first glimpse of a genuine smile that was directed at him.

“And I’m usually here now so…” She paused, her cheeks coloring just a bit as she tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’m sure we’ll get to work together quite a bit.”

Sherlock’s lips ticked up a bit as he gazed down at her. “I’m sure we will, yes,” he agreed softly. “Till next time then.”

She nodded. “G’night, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Molly.”

Sherlock turned away again to leave Bart’s hospital, and the difference of that added thirty seconds was more than he could have hoped for. It was the first glimmer of hope that he’d had since the moment he’d heard her name again. That woman smiling sweetly at him a moment ago, _that_ was the Molly Hooper he remembered. That was his Molly.

No, he reminded himself...not _his_ Molly of course, not anymore. But this was at least a glimpse of the Molly Hooper that had been his friend. And that was exactly what he hoped she would become again.

Sherlock told himself he was perfectly content as he rode home in a cab that night. He was content that Molly had ended up being so agreeable to a working relationship, and content with the idea that perhaps they would be able to rebuild a trusting friendship along with their professional connection. Surely it was all he could possibly ask for now.

Surely this would be enough to make him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We so appreciate all the kudos and comments, guys! Glad you're enjoying this fic. :) Hopefully ch 5 will be coming next week, so stay tuned! ;D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some actual case work is ahead! And of course that also means the we-have-big-time-history duo get to spend some time together in the name of The Game being On and such. Enjoy this latest installment! ;)

“So the kitchen knife?” John asked, peering at the body on the table.

“Yes I’d say it would have had to be,” Molly confirmed.

Sherlock glanced back and forth between his friend and the petite woman, a smile barely contained on his lips. He could see it in her eyes; that look that meant she had all the answers. It would be rather enjoyable to see her explain things.

John glanced at Sherlock who was notably quiet and then back at Molly. “Right, so I’m assuming I’m the only one who needs things spelled out then.”

Molly smiled sweetly at him, softening the blow. “There’s a rather huge reason why it had to be the kitchen knife. According to Mr. Peterson’s medical records, he’s rather severely allergic to strawberries. Although the kitchen knife was thoroughly cleaned, there were strawberries in the bin and traces on the cutting board. And in addition, once the stab wounds were completely cleaned, it was clear that those areas were severely inflamed. So he was actually having an allergic reaction as he was bleeding out. Bit of a nasty way to go!” She let out a short giggle with an accompanying grimace.

Sherlock turned his head a bit so he could smile undetected.

John shook his head. “Wow, ok then, so I imagine his wife's claim that it was a break in is a bit far fetched. What sort of person breaks in, stabs someone with a borrowed knife, and then cleans it and leaves it there?”

“The stupid sort who actually lives there and are trying to appear innocent,” Sherlock quipped. “They really should all know better by now.”

“Ah but if they did, you’d be dreadfully bored,” John countered.

“A fate worse than death,” Molly agreed instantly with a little chuckle.

The moment she said it though, Sherlock’s eyes met her’s and her cheeks colored a bit, clearly at the realization that her comment was that of someone with intimate knowledge of the man. She tore her eyes away again and cleared her throat.

“So I’ll just send the report along to the Inspector, but I’d imagine he should bring the wife in for questioning as soon as possible.”

“We’ll pass that along, thank you, Dr. Hooper,” Sherlock said with his eyes still on her even though her’s had shifted. When he finally looked over at John, he was disturbed to see a small smirk on his friend’s lips.

After that, Sherlock quickly wished the lovely doctor a good day and hastened to exit the morgue with his friend in tow. He tried to walk fast enough that John couldn’t keep up, but apparently the man was especially determined.

“You two get on,” John stated as they got in the lift.

“What?” Sherlock spat back, stabbing at the lift button.

“You and Dr. Hooper. You seem to get on,” he restated.

Sherlock let out a little huff. “Hardly worth noting. I get on with everyone!”

John began giggling which only served to make Sherlock more agitated.

“What? What is so amusing?”

John shrugged, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh nothing, just, you know...observing.” He smiled smugly.

Sherlock squared his shoulders and trained his gazed straight ahead as the lift doors opened. “You’re obviously rubbish at observing, I can’t imagine why you bother,” he grumbled as they left the hospital.

* * *

When their cab came to a halt, Sherlock and John were greeted by the sight of a well dressed woman, hands in her pockets as he strolled slowly back and forth in front of the steps of 221 Baker St.

“Someone you know?” John asked as they prepared to exit the cab.

“No,” Sherlock stated, scanning the man as best he could from his seat in the cab. “But we’re about to get to know a great deal about her.” He smiled just a little. “I do believe our next big case has come to call.”

* * *

Sherlock sat in his usual chair, staring at the woman who sat primly in John’s chair across from him. He knew John was glancing between her and the man beside her. The bodyguards were standing outside of earshot in the hallway.

“What is the document?” Sherlock asked.

The Prime Minister shifted in her seat. “One of an explosive nature, I can assure you.”

“Enough to start a war, Mr Holmes,” the Foreign Secretary added.

“Don’t think that takes much these days,” John quipped from his seat at the desk, and Sherlock smirked in response.

“We want you to find this, quietly and quickly. Involving the police is of course out of the question.” The Right Honorable Trelawney Hope’s forehead was sweating a bit, his body betraying his tone of command.

“I ask again, what is in the document? I need to know the precise contents if you have any hope of recovering it, assuming of course that’s not been converted to digital format and this would merely become a mental exercise.” Sherlock’s patience was wearing thin.

Hope shifted in his seat. “The letter--”

“So it’s a letter?” John asked, making a note.

The Prime Minister sighed in disapproval, but Hope didn’t deny it. “Yes, it’s a letter,” he confirmed. “But I must not divulge--”

“Then this chat is at an end, I’m afraid,” Sherlock stood up, buttoning his jacket and taking long strides to the door, ready to see his guests out.

“Wait!” cried the Prime Minister as Sherlock’s hand touched the doorknob. “Please, Mister Holmes, wait.”

She sighed again, this time in resignation. “Alright. I see that we’ll have to forthcoming with you as we need to recover this letter as soon as possible. But you are bound by law to keep this strictly secret.”

Sherlock faced his clients once again, placing his hands behind his back. “You have my word, Prime Minister.”

* * *

The door slammed loudly behind them and John opened his laptop. “So, is Mycroft involved?”

“It’s likely his fault that they were sitting in our sitting room, John. Yes, this reeks of entirely too much leg work for him.”

Sherlock sat back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin, eyes staring straight ahead. “It’s likely that someone on the staff of the Hope got a hold of the letter, though it’s doubtful they would know it’s full significance.”

“Difficult to get good help these days, I suppose,” John quipped. “What would they do with it? Sell it?”

“There’s very few people they could sell it to, not without being caught. They would have to be able to get in touch with the right interested parties.” Sherlock pulled out his phone, rapidly typing, scrolling through a few pages for some minutes. “Not much on the usual channels. Though being part of the household staff for the Foreign Secretary no doubt they were able to rub elbows with the right people for this sort of thing. _Interested agents._ ”

“Spies?” John asked with a frown.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied. He dropped his phone with a huff. “Nothing. That leaves only the locals, then. There’s only perhaps three agents in London that would have risk it: Randall Cummings, Eduardo Lucas, and Bruce Parrington. Come John, we’ll have to make a few house calls. ”

“What did you say?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think Eduardo Lucas will be very willing to talk,” John said.

Sherlock frowned at his friend. “Why not?”

John spun around his computer, the headline of the article becoming visible. “Because he’s dead.”

* * *

“You have a long weekend off ahead,” Sherlock stated, causing Molly Hooper to look up at him through her safety glasses.

She shifted her gaze for a second before giving him a nod. “Yes, that’s right. Why?”

“I simply wonder…” Sherlock absentmindedly picked up an empty vial, rolling it between his fingers for a moment before she gave him an icy stare, prompting him to return it to its place. “I wondered if you might be able to assist with another case. This one though, is in the country.”

Molly lifted her glasses up to rest on her head. “You’re saying you want me to come with you?”

Suddenly the air felt a bit thick in his lungs.

“Well, there is a murder involved,” he explained rapidly. “Naturally John and I would need a professional opinions on forensics. The case is...delicate, and the local force cannot be trusted. I’d prefer to eliminate the chance that any local forensics officer could be bought off, I was rather limited in who I was able to trust.”

He paused, pressing his lips together nervously as she regarded him in silence, obviously thinking this over. Finally, she exhaled and set her safety glasses back in place.

“Ok, I’ll do it.”

Sherlock smiled a little before he could keep him mouth in check, but then cleared his throat. “Excellent.” He fished in his inside coat pocket and then produced a ticket, holding it out to her.

She stepped closer, smiling hesitantly as she took the ticket and looked it over. “I see, so you brought this for me?”

He smiled proudly. “Seemed likely enough that you’d take it.”

Molly licked her lips and stuck the ticket in her pocket. “Ok, well, thanks,” she said quietly while bringing the safety glasses down over her eyes again.

“John and I will be leaving today but you may meet us there tomorrow seeing as your shift doesn’t end till six this evening.”

“Right, I’ll text you when I leave then. You can let me know where I should meet you.” With that, she looked back down at the samples she was working on, indicating that she’d like to get back to the task at hand.

Sherlock took the hint, muttered an “afternoon,” and made his way out of the lab, both terrified and elated at the prospect of an out of town case...with Molly Hooper.

* * *

The house in the more posh part of Lyme was not exactly what one would imagine a foreign agent to live in. The curious recreation of a Victorian sitting room was also unexpected, Sherlock noted, his eyes taking in the large Persian rug. Annoyance bubbled up to see that the body had already been moved, likely losing a great amount of evidence along the way.  
The local Yarder, Gregson, was standing with arms crossed in the corner as John flips through photos of the body. The detective was not happy to have Sherlock or John there (even less that Molly is the one to perform the autopsy), but the order had come from on-high and he was in no position to argue, even without any information as to why.

“As you can see, it’s a straightforward break in, Mister Holmes, nothing but to do but to round up the usual suspects. Forensics should be back with the print lifts in a few days and we can all move on from this.”

“No love lost for Mister Lucas then, I suppose?” John asked as Sherlock continued to inspect space. He had about five theories about what might have happened here, but he wanted to explore the rest of the house until he was able to speak to Molly about the body.

“Not the friendliest bloke,” Gregson went on. “But just one of the other posh would-be Sirs that have always been here. But rest assured, we’ll find the one who done it.”

“I doubt I’ll have any kind of rest for a while, Gregson,” Sherlock quipped. “This room has been thoroughly wiped, any idiot would have seen that, so I am very glad indeed that I at least have brought someone competent for the post-mortem.” Sherlock grabbed the photos of the body from John, flipping through them quickly while rolling his eyes at their quality. “I’d also have a chat with your team if they didn’t relay that information to you immediately, though I would spend more time wondering why you didn’t observe it yourself in the first place. Though it’s not surprising that you cannot seem to see what’s directly in front of you. For the moment, lock this place up and make sure no one comes in or out until you hear from me.”  
Sherlock swept out of the room with a swish of his coat.

“Uh, ta, we’ll be in touch,” John said with a small apologetic smile to the quickly reddening Gregson and followed Sherlock out the front door.

* * *

Sherlock pushed through the morgue doors, satisfied to see that Molly had finished and was writing up paperwork.

“Oh, hello!” she greeted them with a smile. “I was just about to text you.”

“Anything interesting?” Sherlock asked, getting right to business.

“Cause of death was in fact exsanguination, due to multiple stab wounds. Not much of a mystery there,” she commented with a small laugh as she put her paperwork down and donned a fresh pair of gloves.

Sherlock recognized the glint in her eye, however, and he did his best to hold back a smile to see it even as John stepped forward.

“So, nothing of note, then?” the doctor asked.

Molly’s dimple showed in her cheek as she stepped to pull back the sheet over the late Eduardo Lucas.

“Look at the wounds,” she said, pointing the the three cleaned incisions over the man’s chest. The shape of them and the force of them are coming from below. Eduardo Lucas was 6’2”. These tell me something about the attacker.”

Sherlock stepped over beside her as she carried on.

“It must have been a small person,” she observed. “Short, I would guess, maybe about 5’2” or 3”?”

“Personal?”

“Maybe. Given that it started from behind. Look,” she said, reaching over to turn the body slightly. “There, that’s the first wound. It’s from behind, not strong enough to kill at first, but enough to get him to turn around and face the person. And given that there’s three or four wounds in the chest along with defensive wounds, it’s likely someone who’s just...letting go?”

She lowered the body back down and Sherlock’s brain whirred with the new data.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“I’ll have to get the standard blood work out to analysis, big man like that against a smaller attacker, it’s possible that he was drugged or something to be overpowered like that. I’ll know more once I’ve run it.”

“An expert analysis I would say,” Sherlock said honestly at Molly’s observations. “Nothing typical about this after all. We’ll have to look closer at the staff that’s contracted by Mister Lucas.”

John’s mobile began ringing then and he stepped aside while fishing it from his pocket and picking up the call with a hello to his wife.

“Oh no,” John murmured, making Sherlock and Molly turn their attention to his conversation. “God, that sounds awful. Look, I’ll just catch the first train back that I can get. No, Mary, don’t be sorry. I wish you’d called sooner! Yeah ok...just hang in there and I’ll text you when I’m on the way. Ok, love you too.”

“Mary’s ill,” Sherlock stated with concern as John hung up.

“Worse than that. Rosie’s ill as well,” John clarified. “They’ve both got a terrible stomach bug and it’s difficult for Mary to care for Rosie when she’s barely able to get around herself. I’ve got to head home.”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’d have to,” he admitted.

“Listen, you’ll be fine,” John said with a little laugh. “What do I really do anyway?”

Sherlock gave him a tight smile. “Mary and Rosie come first,” he said selflessly, though his expression revealed his concern at his best friend not being present.

There was a moment of silence as John stood at the door, ready to take his leave but clearly concerned about whether Sherlock would truly be fine on his own.

“I don’t know if anyone can really fill Dr. Watson’s shoes. But I’d be willing to help.”

Both Sherlock and John whirled to look at Molly as she spoke. She smiled at them and shrugged.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. I am already here anyway. I can stay in Lyme as long as you need,” she said with a little nod to Sherlock.

Sherlock stared back at her, a bit thrown by her volunteering. He might not have even attempted to ask, seeing as she’d already come to assist in the forensics. The fact that she’d offer...well it felt like the Molly Hooper he’d known in Uni. The one who seemed always ready to support and assist him when he needed it most.

“Well that’s brilliant!” John exclaimed with a grin. “Look, I’ve gotta run, but let me know what happens ok, Sherlock?”

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed. “See you back in London.”

The door swung shut after John took his leave, and then the silence set in. After a long moment, Sherlock cleared his throat before speaking softly.

“Thank you.”

Molly pulled her gloves off with a snap as she smiled at him. “It’s no problem. Glad to help however I can.”

He looked down for a moment, pressing his lips together in thought before looking back at her. “You help was always invaluable...as I recall.”

She had to know there was volumes of meaning behind his words. She could likely read it all in his eyes as she stared back at him. If she did though, she let it be, not yet daring to cause ripples along the still waters on which they currently sailed.

“Well,” she finally murmured, excitement sparkling just a bit in her eyes. “Shall we get to work?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies once again for this update being later than Lexie and I had originally planned. Hopefully our next update will come a bit quicker, but do be patient with us. We're busy these days, but we absolutely want to keep plugging away at this fic. Thanks for reading and as always we'd very much appreciate feedback. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on the ACD Sherlock Holmes case "The Second Stain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi...hehe...yeah it's been a while. Lexie and I offer our sincere apologies that we've kept you readers (any that are left lol) waiting so very long. Our personal lives are nuts, as usual. So I think I can speak for both of us when I say that adulting is basically to blame for this wait! But I think we've kind of made up for it. A nice long update for you! And feels to go with it. Enjoy the chapter and we'd love to hear your thoughts. ;)

“Should I get us some tea and some butties?” Molly asked as they climbed the stairs towards their rooms at the inn. It was likely they would stay overnight, even if simply to wait for the forensic test results to finish. 

“I don’t eat while I’m on a case, digestion slows me down,” Sherlock replied in a short, distracted manner, stopping short as they rounded the corner to find someone waiting for them in the hallway. 

The woman was dressed well, face striking, not likely to be a threat, and Sherlock recognized her immediately: Lady Hilda Trewlaney Hope. 

“Mister Sherlock Holmes?” she asked in a clear smooth accent, and Sherlock felt Molly stand a little taller.

“Lady Hope,” Sherlock acknowledged, placing his hands behind his back.

“I was hoping to be able to speak with you about a...delicate matter,” the lady went on, sparing a glance at Molly before meeting Sherlock’s eyes again. 

Sherlock unlocked the door to his room, holding the door open to Lady Hope, indicating to Molly that she should follow as well.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked in a whisper.

“Absolutely,” he confirmed without hesitation.

“Should I take notes?” she went on, even as she entered the room.

“If it makes you more comfortable,” Sherlock said, closing the door and still standing very close to Molly. 

“Well, that’s what John said he does, and if I’m being John--”

“You’re not being John, you’re being yourself,” Sherlock interrupted, not wanting to consider Molly being a substitute for anyone. He turned back to his client’s wife, but not before catching a small smile on Molly’s lips.

“Mister Holmes, I know that my husband has come to see you on a delicate matter of state,” Lady Trewlaney Hope got right to the point, glancing briefly at Molly as if assessing how much she might know on the matter.

“Miss Hooper is aware of the situation and has been cleared,” Sherlock said, irritated by the political ridiculousness. “You madam, however, should not be.”

Lady Trewlaney Hope seemed satisfied. “I know enough about my husband’s work and the box he is responsible for, an inherited privilege that the ones in his position have had in the service to the Crown.”

She took a step closer to him, her eyes shining. “And I know what’s happened has affected him deeply. And I know your reputation. I wanted to know if you’d already found what he’d lost.” She blinked away tears. “I understand that it might not seem like it, but I need to know what I will find in my husband upon my return to London. I cannot tell you truly how important it is.” 

Sherlock’s eyes flickered over the woman before him, his eyes flitting from her shoes to her nervously clenched hands to the tearful dark,bright eyes. Molly was just outside of his line of sight, but he did manage to notice that while intimidated by the elegant and obviously intelligent woman in the room, Molly was able to sympathize. 

Interesting.

“Lady Trewlaney Hope, I cannot speak to you about the case that has been entrusted to me by your husband. We have only just arrived, however, and I will tell you that upon your arrival in London, I believe that you might find your husband much in the way that you would have expected based on any information that you might have received from him.” Sherlock stood with his hands behind his back, making it quite clear that he would say nothing more.

Lady Hilda nodded in understanding, and shaking her head to clear it. “I understand.” She walked towards the door, her head held high. She paused while standing before the detective. “I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t not mention my sentimental interruption of your investigation.” 

“Of course. Afternoon,” he replied, holding the door open and watching carefully as the wife of the Foreign Secretary walked out of the door in and towards the lift.

* * *

 

“I hope that you understand just what you’re asking, brother mine.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he listened to his brother through the phone line. “You know very well that I cannot have an assistant that I cannot speak to about the details of the case because she does not have clearance.”

“An assistant, yes,” Mycroft’s voice was dripping with condescension. “Careful, Sherlock. I had rather hoped that you had learned your lesson all those years ago.”

“We are on a  _ case _ , Mycroft, and Molly is to help me clean the mess of  _ your _ ministers, I might add.”

There was a significant pause on the other end. “Of course.” The elder Holmes did not sound in the least bit convincing. “She had been cleared. But remember, Sherlock, don’t see more than there is to see.”

Sherlock unceremoniously hung up, not wanting to acknowledge his brother with a retort. Terminating the conversation was enough of a last word. 

Molly had gone to fetch a light dinner as Sherlock sat cross-legged on the bed in his room to think, pushing aside any thoughts of his brother. Lady Trewlaney Hope’s visit made no sense to this case, or at least he had not been able to find a successful link yet.

He considers what he knows a little more closely, trying to find the missing link. 

A noise to his right pulls him out of his mind palace. 

Molly has somehow come back into his room and is studying the crime scene photos Gregson had given him copies of. She held in her hand a nearly finished sandwich and Sherlock spotted some official looking documents that had likely been delivered by Mycroft sitting by the small table in his room. He watched as she slowly chewed, her brow furrowing as she peered at the photograph.

“What do you see?” he asked, startling her into dropping the photo in her hand. 

“I thought you were thinking,” she replied, picking up the photo and tossing the remainder of her meager dinner into the takeaway container. 

“I am thinking, and so are you,” he says, stretching his limbs. “Out with it, Hooper.”

“Well, it’s unusual, isn’t it? There’s not really anything missing from the house and if Lucas really is a known spy, shouldn’t it be a bit more...ransacked?” She frowned as she picked up another photo. “I’m also a little bewildered as to why there’s no more photos of the rest of the house, but I believe that it was probably untouched.”

Sherlock suppressed a smirk. “John and I walked the whole house and there was nothing of note. You’re right, there was nothing that was really indicate any sort of theft.”

“Right, so if we keep in mind the cause of death, it’s obvious that the only intention was to come in and kill Lucas. So, if the person who killed him already knew where he hid the letter or they didn’t know about it at all because why pass up something as valuable as that?”

“Mycroft confirmed that the letter must still be with Lucas, even after his death. Or, as you say, the one who killed him knew its location and value,” Sherlock agreed.

“Lady Trewlaney Hope?” Molly asked, looking at Sherlock. “Her visit was…”

“She was hiding something, yes,” Sherlock agreed. “I don’t doubt that she knows about the letter, possibly even its contents, but why she would be involved with Lucas, let alone kill him makes no sense. She obviously didn’t have the letter otherwise she would have never come to see us. She obviously had no time to search the house or was interrupted.”

“If she killed Lucas, the police will find her fingerprints,” Molly pointed out.

“A well known barrister and wife of a career politician like Lady Hilda Trewlaney Hope would be clever enough to commit the crime and be sure to leave no evidence to her ever being there. The police would have their work cut out for them indeed,” Sherlock said, not without a hint of admiration. 

He caught a twitch of Molly’s mouth for a moment, but before he could really observe it, she’d turned back to the photographs for a moment before picking up her own autopsy report from earlier in the day. 

She let out a long sigh. “Poor woman. Whatever her involvement is, I feel that it will not be good.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but agree.

* * *

 

The train back to London the next day was relatively quiet and many seats were empty, which normally Sherlock would have preferred. But in this case he wouldn’t have minded a bit of distraction and noise: after the call early in the morning from Gregson and the visit to Lucas’ home one last time set a different direction for the case, the plan for bringing it to a close was a simple one and there was nothing more to be considered or done until they reached London. As the train began moving and the wheels chugged methodically, all he could think of now was what was right in front of him.

Or, rather, right next to him reading a book.

“Did you um, want anything?” Molly gestured in her pack where there were a couple magazines. She had obviously come prepared for the journey. She glanced at the selection. “I thought I would have a little more time to catch up on reading. But there’s one science journal you used to enjoy.” She made a move to pull it out.

“No, thank you,” he quickly answered, not wanting to dwell on how well she still seemed to know him...to  _ remember _ him. Perhaps it was best if he focused on the case and where they were up to this point. He settled into his seat and closed his eyes, steepling his hands under his chin.  

Lady Trewlaney Hope was tied up in this case, he had no doubt. He wondered at her actions: a woman who in her own right had a reputation for no-nonsense and certainly the last person that he would have considered to be carried away by the amount of sentiment that he’d not only seem on display the day before, but in everything that was found evidenced as part of the case. 

Sentiment was a defect found on the losing side.

That he knew. That he had always known. And yet…

And yet Molly Hooper was sitting beside him, quietly leaving him to his thinking, having accompanied him on her first long weekend off since she started working at Barts, not complaining once about being pulled into this case without any real explanation of all the facts. She’d done this without a thought for herself, even after everything he’d put her through.

But, of course, this was who Molly was. Who she’d always been. 

He wondered how it was possible that it took him even as long as it did back in University to realize that Molly was the most magnificent woman in the world. It truly was so very obvious. They’d just...worked. They seemed to mold to each other as soon as their lives crossed paths. These last two days in Lyme with Molly had done nothing but remind him of what was so very wonderful about her, and even about them together. Before now, he’d had hoped to have nothing beyond a solid friendship with her, knowing very well that it was as hopeful as he could possibly deserve to be. But unfortunately, this circumstance had brought dangerous aspirations to the surface. 

It reminded him of how much he loved her. Cemented in his mind in a way he could no longer ignore just how much he still very much  _ wanted _ her.

Molly Hooper understood him. She saw him more clearly than almost anyone else. Arguably more clearly than John, especially on certain occasions. He loved what she saw in him, what she did to him, what she made him want to do...and who she made him want to be. And he just loved  _ her.  _ He admired her quiet skill and intelligence and her ability to get what she needed out of life while still seeming to float along so calm and cool. 

He’d always been a bit flabbergasted that she’d chosen him all those years ago. She turned quite a few heads, as Sherlock was always astute enough to notice. Sherlock didn’t exactly have a low opinion of himself in many ways, but he also knew what his weak points were. And he knew what Molly Hooper deserved. It was truly amazing that she somehow came to believe that he was what she deserved...what made her happy.

It was quite a feeling back then, he thought while covertly glancing over at her quietly reading, to know that he was enough to make her happy. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, indulging in some dust covered memories. He’d been as thrilled as he was amazed when it all first came together…

* * *

 

**_“If you ever need anything, anything at all, you can have me.”_ **

_ He’d spent three days turning over her words in his head. How was it possible that this girl ( **woman, lovely, gentle, kind, woman** ) had seen through him, all the things that he was and wasn’t, and still open herself up to him? Offering herself and her support in the very same breath as her acceptance that her presence in his life wasn’t worth all that much to him.  _

_ He’d never had the chance to be with someone who not only accepted him, but actively sought his company, worried about his well-being with no ulterior motive, someone who saw beyond the rude demeanor (armor) and biting words. Molly saw his ambitions, cultivated his interests, supported him, and yes, even covered for his failings.  _

_ He was unworthy of her, certainly, but deeper than that, he was selfish.  _

_ He wasn’t about to let her go.  _

_ “You’re wrong, you know.” _

_ She jumped at the sound of his voice in the darkened lab.  _

_ “I’ve always trusted you,” he went on, standing to walk over to her. “I never wanted to give you reason to think I didn’t.” _

_ “What’s wrong, Sherlock?” she asked, standing up straight with a level of alarm, her voice not stuttering or wavering as he stepped closer.  _

_ “You have a rubbish lab partner, Molly Hooper,” he non-sequitured, gazing down at her. “He’s not been carrying his share. Been a right git, really.” _

_ The panic left her eyes as she sighed. She gave a small chuckle. “Yes, well, I think he was busy trying to brilliantly solve a crime.” _

_ “A twenty year old crime that no one cares about anymore.” _

_ Her eyes met his again, her expression growing serious. “The murdered man’s family cares.” She takes a tiny step closer to him, her voice soft. “ You care, Sherlock.” _

_ “So do you,” he retorted. “Molly Hooper, how do you care so much?” _

_ He wasn’t talking about a case anymore, and he could tell that she knew it - the blush covering her cheeks was a dead giveaway.  _

_ “Of course I...I do care, Sherlock. I’ve...always cared.” _

_ Before he can stop himself, he placed his hand on her cheek. She closes her eyes at the sensation, and he feels a swoop in his stomach.  _

_ He brings his forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of her, one that’s become so familiar in the last months of long nights of study, shared whisperings in class, their working together in this very lab.  _

_ “I am an arrogant, rude, obsessive, inconsiderate prick,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s begging her to pull away.  _

_ He’s under no illusions about who he is. Since they properly met while in class, he’s moved on from trying to falsely charm her, even as she inadvertently charmed him. He never thought it was a good idea to get tangled up in romance, and did everything to show her who he truly was, not holding any ugly part back. _

_ “Brilliant, funny, kind, good,” she counters with her observations, clear and sure. She’d seen him now, and she knew...she knew to see beyond what he presented her. And she was still standing there, her hands lightly placed on his waist, breathing the same air as he was. _

_ It’s the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. He needed it as much as he wanted it. It’s the first time in a while that he wanted something truly good. She was so truly good. _

_ Which is why it felt especially miraculous to him when she so eagerly and instantly kissed him back. _

* * *

 

“Water?” Molly held out a small bottle to him.

Sherlock swallowed hard, pressing his lips together as he continued to feel the tingling memory of that first kiss they shared. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, please.”

After taking a sip, he shifted in his seat and sighed. A second late though, he frowned, looking over at her.

“Didn’t you have something you were going to do today? In Lyme I mean.”

She looked a little surprised. “Oh, I wasn’t sure you heard me say that. Yes, well, I was going to do something. But seeing as we needed to do...something for the case back in London, it just didn’t work out.”

Sherlock peered at her. “And what was this something you were planning?”

She smiled nervously for a moment. “I had planned to take a tour of Lyme Park.”

“Ah yes,” he said with a slow nod. “Quite a tourist attraction. My apologies the case took us away rather abruptly.”

She shrugged. “Oh that’s ok. I think Lyme Park will probably be around a while,” she said with a short laugh.

There was a brief silence before Molly spoke again.

“It’s a nice area. I’d certainly like to go back some time, maybe just on a day trip or something. Just...for fun.” Another pause. “Maybe we could go back some time.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to hers. “Yes I think so,” he mumbled in response, hardly taking the time to plan the words. Not that he needed to put much thought into accepting an offer like that.

It gave him a sliver of hope which he wasn’t really able to push aside. Maybe he didn’t even want to try. The idea that Molly Hooper might choose to spend time with him...even outside of professional activities? Well, he had to admit that it made his pulse race just a little. 

It didn’t always take a thrilling case to get Sherlock Holmes’ blood pumping.

* * *

 

“Stop second guessing yourself and come along,” Sherlock urged, walking towards the back of the grand house at a brisk pace, causing Molly to have to rush to keep up. They came up to what was obviously a service entry and briefly spoke to one of the security personnel. They were escorted then to a small sitting room where Lady Hilda Trewlaney Hope was waiting for them.

“Good afternoon, Mister Holmes, Miss Hooper. Please have a seat,” she greeted them. “I must say I’m rather surprised to see here so soon. You have good news for my husband, I hope?”

“I would venture to say that you would be the person to be able to do that more readily than I would, Lady Hilda,” Sherlock said, remaining standing. 

Lady Hilda frowned, sitting up straighter and with an air of mild outrage. “What an extraordinary thing to say. Why should I have anything to do with it?”

“Come come, there’s no time for that now.” Sherlock leveled his stare at the woman before him and held out his hand. “Now, if you please, the letter.”

Lady Hilda jumped up from her seat. “How dare you suggest such a thing! I have absolutely nothing to do--”

“There’s no sense in lying to me,” Sherlock interrupted. “You know who I am: it doesn’t work. Now, the letter.”

He and Lady Hilda remained in staring contest for a few moments before the woman let out a deep sigh and dropped heavily into the seat behind her, her head in her hands. 

“How did you know?” she asked in a small voice. 

“I received a call from Inspector Gregson this morning, asking me to come back to the dead man’s house, pointing out an irregularity he discovered in the rug where the dead man had lain. Indeed, it was obvious that it had been moved sometime during the night, and upon interrogation of the officer placed to guard the scene, it was discovered that there was a crime-scene ‘looky-loo’ whom the officer took to showing off to. Luckily for us, in that moment, the news of the arrest of Lucas’ estranged wife who was openly admitting to murdering her ‘snake of a husband’. It gave me time to confirm not only Lucas’ secret, if eccentric, hiding place under the rug. It was empty, as you know, and I was able to conclude that it could only have been you who removed its contents, having been able to access the house again last night.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. “What could you have possibly made you risk a charge of treason for such a thing? Only you could have taken the letter in the first place, so what did Lucas have that you needed back so badly?”

Lady Hilda took a deep steadying breath. “My daughter.”

Sherlock frowned in confusion. Molly, however, moved closer, reaching out with a concerned look to the other woman, placing her hand gently on her arm. 

Lady Hilda looked up, and Sherlock noted how their eyes met, wondering briefly at the connection between the women. 

“My daughter,” Lady Hilda went on to say to Sherlock. “That...slime had photos, compromising ones that I could simply not allow to be seen. She’s my only child, the only thing I have left of my first husband. And one would risk anything, even treason, to protect the ones they love.” She glanced quickly at Molly before looking back up at Sherlock. “I don’t know how he got them, but I had to do something. He told me what he wanted, and, in a fit of madness and grief, I waited until my husband was negligent enough to leave the dispatch box open in my presence and took the letter from it. I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I walked into Lucas’ home, the way the mug bastard smiled and taunted me, not even bothering to hide where he had hidden the blackmail under the rug. I saw him take the exchange and put it back, but before I could think of anything else to do, there was a pounding on the door and a woman stormed in, flying to a rage at the sight of him and me there. It must have been his wife, then. She was shouting in French and hitting him, and I saw my chance to get out, regroup and perhaps figure out what else to do. Thankfully, there was no evidence of my having been there, as I took precautions to touch nothing.  I knew my husband had already found out that the letter was missing, and should this ever come out, I wasn’t going to make it easier to incriminate me. When I found out that Lucas was dead that very night, I had to go back. Then I learned that my husband has put you on the case. I had hoped that you perhaps had recovered the letter and my involvement would not be known. But I was too early, and now knew I had to go in for the letter myself. It was easy enough to do. Now, of course, there’s the bigger problem.”

“You cannot put it back,” Molly chimed in, and the other woman nodded. 

“I cannot try to put it back, my husband has the only key! And how could I explain the letter’s return?” Lady Hilda despaired. “Please, could you help me Mister Holmes?”

“Do you have the letter here?” Sherlock asked and Lady Hilda nodded. “And the dispath box? Where is it?”

“In our room, my husband is having a meeting downstairs as we speak.”

“Yes, I have an appointment to see him in fifteen minutes,” Sherlock replied with a short smile and both Molly and Lady Hilda looked alarmed. “Go get the letter and the box and bring them here.”

Lady Hilda wasted no time in leaving the room to fetch the items as Sherlock pulled out a small pouch of tools from his coat pocket.

“Sherlock, what are you going to do?” Molly whispered to him, glancing at the door, her eyes no doubt not missing the lock picking tools he was laying out. 

“My record is eleven minutes and twenty eight seconds,” Sherlock informed her. “Assuming this is the same model that Mycroft keeps.” He smiled roguishly at her. “Mind keeping the timer?”

Before Molly could reply, Lady Hilda walked back in the room, the items requested in her hands.

* * *

 

“It was thrilling, really...all of it.”

Sherlock glanced at Molly as they walked down the street, enjoying the light in her eyes that came from the excitement of their adventures. He’d never have his fill of that sight.

“You’re not sorry to have been dragged along then?” 

She shook her head. “Not at all, no. It’s nice to see you making a living doing what you love. I wondered for so long, so to finally see it in person…” Her voice trailed off and she chewed her lip nervously, suddenly a bit self conscious.

Sherlock could guess why. This was the first time she’d really admitted to giving him any significant thought before seeing him again after so many years apart. The confirmation for him was like gold. He’d hoped that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who spent time contemplating what his lost love’s life had turned out to be, but till now he hadn’t much proof.

“I really didn’t think you would get the box open in time. And even then, I wasn’t sure what you would say to the Foreign Secretary about it!” Molly let out a little laugh. “My God, when Lord Trewlaney Hope ever opened that box and there was the letter! I thought his eyes would pop right out of his head! And the Prime Minister as well!” 

Sherlock smiled proudly. “It was a rather fulfilling moment, wasn’t it? I fully admit to being pleased with how the whole thing turned out.”

“You could have just told him that you’d found the letter at Lucas’ house, no need for all that with the box,” she commented, looking at him out of the side of her eyes. 

Sherlock snorted. “Where’s the fun in that?” He winked at her, enjoying the way she laughed in return, shaking her head. 

“Show off,” she mumbled.

“I do hope that Lady Hilda will be able to talk with her husband eventually about all this.” Molly switched topics as they walked on.

“Yes, well. The love of a child will always trump any other, or so I’ve been led to believe. Damn dangerous business all around,” Sherlock replied.

“She loves her husband as well, though. That much is clear,” Molly retorted, surety in her voice. At Sherlock’s raised skeptical brow, she explained, “She had the photographs of her daughter, she knew she couldn’t be placed with Lucas at the time of his death: she was scott free! But, no, she went back, risked talking to you, risked getting caught, risked everything just to get back the letter that she knew would end her husband’s career-possibly his life! Yes, I would say love for him was very much a part of her motivation, no matter what the state of their marriage may or may not be, she has deep love for him.”

He walked on silently, listening to her impassioned speech.

Molly looked up at him and softened her tone a bit as she went on. “And I thought that was...really brilliant the way you never betrayed Lady Hilda’s confidence. You certainly could have. Would have made things a bit simpler in a way.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I enjoy a challenge.”

“It was a good thing, Sherlock,” she insisted, clearly unwilling to simply chalk it up to Sherlock’s love of the work. “It was the kind thing to do; the right thing. And that was...that was lovely to see.”

She was focused on the pavement ahead of her feet by the time he glanced aside to give her a soft smile, despite the fact that she didn’t see it, before opening his mouth to answer low.

“Occasionally I do make the right choices.”

Her gaze shot to his again as their steps both slowed. She opened her mouth for just a moment, almost as if about to say something, but then she closed it again and just gave him a small smile. 

Everything about this moment left Sherlock a bit lightheaded and the words tumbled out of his lips before he had the chance to be afraid of saying them.

“Fancy some chips?”

Molly frowned. “What?”

“Well, we’ve wrapped up the case and I don’t think either of us have eaten a proper meal all day. It happens there’s an excellent fish shop nearby, just off Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions,” he stated proudly.

“You get him off on murder charge?” she replied with a wry smile.

“Nope, helped him put up some shelves.”

Molly sputtered out a laugh and then emitted a small sigh. “Well it’s been a lovely day and I’m glad I came along. And I’d- I’d love to grab a bite, it’s just, um…” She looked down nervously for a moment.

Fear gripped Sherlock as he felt the euphoric cloud around them floating away. Her hesitance made him instantly wish he’d never opened his mouth.

“I’ve actually got company coming to stay with me from out of town this evening,” she went on. “My friend...Tom.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened before he could gain control over his expression. “Y-your friend Tom?”

Molly nodded. “Yeah, I should probably make sure my flat is presentable and I don’t have wash hanging all over the place or anything,” she said with a laugh, and her cheeks flushed a bit.

Of course.

How could he be so stupid? This is exactly why he didn’t do things like this,  _ shouldn’t  _ do things like this. How could he have suddenly lost touch with reality? He’d let himself briefly stray from the fact that their relationship was now mostly a professional one. Hadn’t Mycroft warned him? She was being kind, perhaps even friendly, but that was all. Clearly she didn’t want anything else, not anymore. And really, why should she? He’d certainly never given  _ her _ reason to trust  _ him _ . The mention of this Tom, who the Watson’s had brought up before, doused his momentary lapse in judgement with icy water, and he suddenly needed to get out of the cold. Literally.

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed with a small smile. He immediately turned and stepped closer to the road, hailing a cab to a stop. 

Molly spoke as one came to a stop and Sherlock opened the door. “We met through friends years ago. Maybe you’ll get to meet him while he’s here in London...he’s nice.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sherlock said simply, praying to be spared the trial of actually meeting the man. “Thankfully for you, not all the men you know can turn out to be sociopaths.”

“No,” she agreed softly.

He opened the cab door for her, gesturing inside. He thought she quietly muttered something else as she climbed inside, but he didn’t quite catch it. 

“Your flat is in the other direction. I’ll get the next one,” he said with a soft smile. “Thank you again, Molly. Your help was very much appreciated.”

“It was my pleasure,” she answered, barely above a whisper.

He shut the door for her and stood back to watch the cab drive away with hands clasped almost painfully tightly behind his back. He didn’t turn and continue walking till it had disappeared. And as he walked slowly along, in no rush to hail another cab for himself, he wondered how many times he’d be cruelty forced to relive the pain. Despite the fact that he fully believed that he deserved to be punished for his mistakes, he wasn’t sure how much more he could endure. 

How many times could he live through the sight of Molly Hooper moving further and further away from him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We reeeeally hope that the next update won't take this long. The case took some extra thought, so now that's wrapped up things might be a bit easier to work with. (my personal kudos to Lexie though, seeing as she's the one brave and clever enough to work in an actual case!)   
> Thanks again for reading and following along. See you next time! ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from Sherlock's POV and adding in some serious #Johntent! ;P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, look how speedy we were this time! I think we've got our groove back a bit lol. Enjoy the little change of pace in this chapter! ;)

John Watson jolted awake as the cab came to a halt at 221 Baker St. He straightened up and paid the driver before stepping out onto the street and up to the shiny black door. 

Heaven help him to put up with Sherlock’s nonsense today after a night of a fussy teething baby. Mary and Rosie were both napping when he left and he’d have dearly loved to join them, but Sherlock had wanted to brief him on the case in Lyme, so he’d caved and agreed to stop by. 

He trudged up the steps, but slowed as he neared the door to his old flat. He heard Sherlock’s voice inside, but also heard another voice. A woman’s voice. It sounded like…

John gave the pair a crooked smile as he entered the flat. “Janine, it’s been a long time. How are you?”

Janine bounced up from where she sat in John’s old armchair and gave him a hug. 

“Just lovely, thanks. So glad to see you! And how is Mummy and baby?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh we’re good, yeah just fine. Well, tired, but y’know…” He smiled as his words trailed off and then his gaze well on Sherlock who was sitting there silently sipping his tea.

“Ooh, hope I’m not interrupting casework!” Janine grimaced apologetically while glancing between the two men.

“No no, it’s fine,” John assured her, though he wasn’t sure exactly why she was there, seeing as Sherlock had asked him over for work.

“Janine happened to be in the neighborhood,” Sherlock explained, obviously deducing his friend’s confusion. “Just catching up a bit. She’ll be heading back to Sussex Downs later today.”

John nodded and smile. “And how do you like it there? Been there, what? Two years now?”

“Mm, just about. It’s a dream, I love it. Still making some improvements, but you know how that goes. The work is never really done! In fact, I’m in the city doing some furniture shopping today.” She took a sip of her tea and let out a short laugh as she reached over and poked Sherlock’s arm. “I would have finished with the work on the grounds long ago though, if this one would stop sending me threats!”

Sherlock set his cup down. “If you call articles by well respected scientists on the importance of honey bees to the survival of the planet and the entire human race to be  _ threats... _ well, whatever works.” He smirked proudly.

For the next twenty minutes John filled Janine in on the latest with Mary and Rosie (including enough photographs for Sherlock to roll his eyes) and she told him more about her place in the country. John had already been taken aback to find someone else visiting at 221B, but his surprise quickly resurfaced at the sound of another knock before the door cracked open. 

“Hello, I have the- oh.”

Molly Hooper, looking slightly wide eyed, stood awkwardly in the doorway with a cooler in her hand.

“Ah, Molly!” Sherlock jumped up to greet her casually. “Much appreciated.”

She pointed hesitantly into the kitchen. “I was, um, just going to pop this in the fridge. And actually, Mrs. Hudson requested that I make sure things are in order as well. Y’know, food and specimens in their proper places.”

Janine giggled. “I never even tried that, would have gone on for the rest of my life! Nothing stayed in its proper place for more than five minutes!”

John’s eyes narrowed a bit as he observed the way Molly’s gaze snapped to the other woman at her words. She was clearly doing the mental math and realizing that this woman had some sort of history with Sherlock Holmes...and his flat.

“Sorry, where are my manners? This one must be rubbing off on me. Hi, I’m Janine,” she said, pushing on Sherlock’s shoulder as she jumped up to shake Molly’s hand cordially. “So, are you one of Sherl’s ones, then?”

“Molly Hooper. I work at Bart’s hospital...and help Sherlock sometimes.”

John eyed his friend who was rocking on his heels a bit beside these two women who were smiling kindly at each other. Sherlock seemed to feel the need to jump in and fill the silence that began quickly pooling between them.

“Janine is just in London for the day. She’s...an old friend.”

She nudged him playfully. “Oh, you!” She smiled at Molly. “He should just be honest and call me an ex. Well, a  _ sort of  _ ex.”

Sherlock chuckled nervously. “I’m sure Molly doesn’t care about the particulars.”

“Well now, you can’t have all that many ex girlfriends, can you? No reason to hide it!” Janine looked at Molly and laughed, prompting her to play along.

But in addition to Molly’s somewhat shaky laughter, John noticed the very briefest of glances between her and Sherlock before the pathologist’s face flushed noticeably as she looked away again. 

“Ok, well I’ll just take care of this,” Molly stated, lifting the cooler before heading into the kitchen. 

Sherlock’s eyes followed her as she walked off, but his attention was quickly pulled away again.

“Ooh, am I embarrassing you?” Janine teased, giving him a little poke in the side. “John, look, his ears are a bit red! Been quite a while since I’ve seen that!”

Sherlock managed a glare as he slipped back to the safety of his chair.

John glanced over to the kitchen, momentarily catching Molly’s eye before she could quickly look away and attempt to hide the fact that she’d been watching that little interchange. She became a little visibly flustered and almost dropped the bag containing an...ear? 

John had to contain an amused smile for a moment, wondering how they were all even able to breathe properly in this room, considering the thick cloud of repressed emotions that enveloped them all. 

Sherlock continued to glance into the kitchen occasionally as Molly finished up, seeming almost anxious for her to leave. John could guess why though, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t because Sherlock didn't want Molly around. 

“Well, I’ve gotta dash, boys,” Janine said a few minutes later, which prompted what looked like a smile of relief on the consulting detective’s face.

“It was nice to see you, Janine. I’ll tell Mary hello,” John said kindly, getting up as she headed for the door.

“Yes, please! I’ll want a nice long visit with her and the wee one soon!”

“Right, absolutely.”

“And you!” Janine said, giving the lapel of Sherlock’s suit jacket a little tug. “You’d better come see the cottage the next time you’ve got a case out that way.”

Sherlock twisted his lips nervously and cleared his throat. “Yes, well...for the bees, if nothing else.”

Janine laughed as she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which John noted that Molly absolutely saw from the kitchen. By the time Sherlock glanced nervously over though, she’d turned away again.

Janine gave them both a little wave and called out a “goodbye” and “nice to meet you” into the kitchen, and then she was gone.

John could swear he saw Sherlock release a sigh relief once the door had shut. A moment later, Molly came out of the kitchen with a little smile.

“So you’re all organized,” she announced.

“Thank you, I appreciate the favor, seeing as I’m between cases now.”

“Right, well I know how that can go.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and laughed a bit, making it clear that she knew very well...from experience. 

“And how’s…” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and cocked his head in thought. “Tom, was it?”

Molly nodded. “He’s good. Enjoying London so far.”

“Good, good,” Sherlock volleyed back quickly. “And he’s here for…”

“He’s leaving in a week.”

Sherlock nodded. “Well...thank you again.”

“No problem.” She glanced over at John. “Nice to see you.”

“Yeah, you as well,” John responded genuinely. Honestly, there wasn’t much better entertainment than watching Molly and Sherlock attempt to function normally around each other. He wondered how long they’d both be able to keep this up.

And more importantly, he wondered exactly why it was like this in the first place.

After Molly took her leave, John took a seat across from his friend and cleared his throat, preparing to dive in. 

“Now,” Sherlock stated, clapping his hands together. “The case!”

“Actually, Sherlock, I wanted to-”

“The. Case.” Sherlock repeated more firmly, giving John a stern look.

John stared back at him, wondering at Sherlock’s reaction. It didn’t take a genius to understand that Sherlock was trying to avoid mentioning the previous ten minutes and the women that were part of the detective’s previously unknown love life. John considered for a moment whether to push for a subject change or not. But finally he leaned back and sighed.

“Right, ok, the case,” he conceded quietly, deciding for this occasion to let him have his way.

But just for now, because John was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this whole Molly mystery. 

* * *

“My God, don’t breathe too loudly,” Mary said with a little groan as she crawled onto the bed beside John. “I think she’s finally out. Or at least for the next few hours if we’re lucky.”

“We usually aren’t,” he commented wryly while setting his book aside.

“I’m glad you’re still up because there was something I absolutely had to tell you about!” Her eyes brightened as she sat up next to him. “Molly came to visit today!”

John’s brow shot up. “Really? Please tell me she-”

“Yes, she did,” Mary confirmed proudly. “I finally heard it all. Right from the source!”

“Well thank God, because the other source was far from cooperative. Ok, so were we right?”

Mary paused and John noted that her expression became a bit somber.

“John, we didn’t even know the half of it,” she said softly.

Ten minutes later, John lay in their bed, staring up at the ceiling in a moment of silent awe.

“My God.”

“Yeah,” Mary agreed.

“I can’t believe it. It really is almost literally unbelievable to think of. And yet…” John turned to his wife. “I can see him doing it. I can see that brilliant moron letting the woman he loves slip away and somehow convincing himself it was for the best.”

“Well, let’s not forget that we only know her side,” Mary reminded him. “She honestly doesn’t know why he left her that day. Not really. She has her guesses, which I’m inclined to agree with, but Sherlock never did explain himself in person.”

“I’m sure she was right. I’d bet my life that Mycroft had something to do with it. If anyone would want Sherlock to cast off something or someone that makes him more...human, it would be Mycroft,” John scoffed. “I’ve gotta talk to Sherlock tomorrow.”

“John, what you need to do is tread carefully. If we make a wrong move, it might just make things worse. At least they seem to be getting on a bit better now. And let’s not forget that Molly doesn’t seem to be single.”

“Did she talk about Tom?”

Mary shrugged. “We didn’t talk about him much. She mentioned dating him a couple of years back, but I’m not sure if it’s starting up again or not, seeing as he’s visiting her here in London now.”

“Well it almost doesn’t matter,” John insisted, rubbing his hands over his face. “You should see the pair of them together. There is  _ something  _ there, Mary. I don’t know if they’re still in love and meant to be together or if they’ve just gotta have it out until they’ve forgiven each other, but either way, something has to happen. I’m sure of that. And knowing Sherlock, he might just try to drag his feet for another few years.”

Mary chuckled. “And I have a feeling that Molly might just leave things as well. She’s still hurting a bit, even if things are a bit better between them compared to when she first arrived. She certainly not ready to put her heart on the line to get hurt again so I think she’d probably rather just let things be.”

“Yeah and that’s why  _ he _ shouldn’t,” John said with a little huff, knowing all too well how his best friend was stubborn and likely to waste more time. “Sherlock needs to do the right thing...before it’s too late.”

* * *

 

John had worked himself into a right state by the time he strolled into 221B the next day, greeted by the sight of Sherlock bent over the kitchen table examining a dish of...something. Obviously occupying himself with experiments while lacking a case, and therefore avoid what John now understood to be the love of his life.

“Busy?” John asked while entering the kitchen.

“Keeps the boredom at a minimum,” Sherlock muttered without looking up.

“Well, I thought maybe I could go over a case with you.”

As he hoped, Sherlock’s head shot up and he whipped the safety glasses off. 

“A case?”

“Mm,” John confirmed. “Interested?”

Sherlock chuckled low. “Rather foolish question, John...even for you!” He left the kitchen and went to take a seat in the sitting room.

John sat down across from him, suppressing a smug smile, rather enjoying the feeling of having the upper hand. “So, I admit this is something I’ve been working on alone for a while. But I’ve got a really solid lead now, so I figured it was time to bring you up to speed.” 

“Good for you, John, taking something on your own. I assume you’ve attempted to use my methods. ” Sherlock stated in a tone of superiority. “How far have you gotten?.”

John twisted his lips into a confused grimace and tightened his fists. “About as far as I’m able to take this one, I’m afraid. I’ll need your...expertise now.”

“So,” Sherlock prompted with a gleam in his eyes. “Out with it! What sort of case is this?”

John leaned forward, staring Sherlock dead in the eyes. “I’ll tell you, but mark my words, it’ll be a difficult one. Especially for you.”

“You know what I’m capable of,” he retorted confidently. 

“Mm, I do. All too well.” John paused a moment. “The case is called...Molly Hooper.”

Color drained from Sherlock’s face and his smile slowly fell as he leaned back in his chair. He swallowed visibly and looked away for a moment before speaking softly.

“John, this is not your concern.”

John’s voice hardened into an angry murmur. “Don’t give me that. Don’t you dare try to act like this isn’t the concern of the people who love and care for you the most. This is about you, your life, and your happiness. How are we not supposed to care about that?”

Sherlock got out of his chair, clearly unable to sit still and hear these sort of things being said. Things that he was especially uncomfortable with. He stood at the window instead, answering in what seemed to be a controlled tone.

“This particular case, John, cannot be solved. Not anymore than it already has been. It is done, and no good can come from chasing it any further. Believe me, I have thought it through. Leave it be.”

John laughed bitterly. “That’s your plan? To do nothing? And for me not to say anything about it?”

“All hearts are broken, John. What’s done is done,” Sherlock replied in a monotone.

John felt the heat rise in his face. “That’s Mycroft talking now. You can take that and sod off.”

Sherlock tensed, but didn’t reply. 

John let out a frustrated growl. “For god sakes, you wanted to marry the woman! She’s here in London right in front of you, and you’re both clearly carrying around an entire flat’s worth of emotional baggage and you want to do  _ nothing _ ?!” He shook his head. “You’re a bloody idiot.”

His accusation was met with silence.

“All those years!” John yelled. “All those years wasted! And for what? What did it buy you? What did it do for her? Both of you got nothing but heartbreak! And from what I know so far, Molly barely even got an explanation! And now here she is, back in your life and you still can’t bring yourself to make things right?”

“I can’t.” 

The weak response only fueled John’s indignation. 

“You  _ can’t?  _ So you can fake your own death, lie to people you love, deal with the most dangerous minds on the planet on an almost weekly basis, but you can’t make peace with a woman you love and try to undo the harm that was caused when you have the chance? That’s the most despicable excuse I’ve ever heard!”

“No!” Sherlock boomed, whirling around as the icy facade shattered. “I am doing the only thing I can do now! Can’t you see that my hands are tied, John? I did this! I ruined our happiness back then and I hurt her! And I broke myself in the process!”

John stared agape as his friend went on.

“Yes, I loved her! Yes, I still love her! There is no woman in the world like that one, and by some unexplained miracle, she loved me. She chose me all those years ago, even as I was! And despite that undeserved gift, I was a coward and a junkie and a fool! I deserted and disappointed her and I hate myself for that decision more and more each day. I deserve to suffer for it the rest of my life, but she doesn’t. She never deserved to hurt because of a man like me.” He paused a drew a much needed breath before speaking more softly. “Now, she has life and career that she loves, and she’s obviously moved on. And because she’s so much more than human, she’s willing to work with me and we have something that works. But she would never want to go through anything like that again. She could never want  _ me  _ again.”

John felt all his earlier anger and frustration melt away at the sight of his defeated friend. Sherlock really was only human, and there was nothing like seeing the evidence of nothing but a man broken by love. So much of who Sherlock and what he believed was so much cleared to John now. He got up and strolled over to Sherlock, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. 

“I don’t think you’re seeing everything, mate. You’re thinking too much about what happened all those years ago and you’re missing what’s right in front of you. If you could step back and see what I see and what Mary sees in Molly...you might not be so afraid of trying.”

Sherlock looked at John, trepidation in his eyes. “Has she- do you mean that Molly has  _ said  _ something…”

John shook his head. “No, not exactly. But it’s obvious that there’s something there between you. It couldn’t be more clear when you’re working together. While we were all in Lyme and even here at Bart’s, I see it every time she looks at you! Don’t let that slip away. You let her go all those years ago, but don’t do it again.”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened, and he turned away from his friend, facing the window once again. He was silent for a long time, and John wondered if what he said had gotten through to his friend. 

After what seemed like an age, Sherlock finally spoke. “I can’t be sure she’d ever want...anything with me again,” he said somberly. “She would have every right to refuse me another chance.”

“Yes, and maybe she would,” John admitted frankly. “But are you willing to go through the remaining years of your life wondering if she  _ might not _ have refused you?”

Sherlock stared at him again, hurt and fear and guilt in his eyes. 

“If you can spare yourself anything,” John added gently. “Let it be regret. You already carry the regret of letting her go back then. Don’t add the regret of not fighting for her now.”

John often couldn’t tell when or if Sherlock Holmes was going to take his advice or counsel. The man himself was one of the most confounding mysteries of all. But he could usually tell when his words at least  _ got in. _ And looking at his friend right then, he was given a glimmer of hope, because he saw that what was said had indeed permeated Sherlock’s mind. And as Sherlock himself said, you can’t kill an idea once it’s been planted in the mind. John could only hope that would be the case.

And he hoped it would also soon take root in his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that quality Johntent or what? :D This switch was only temporary though. After this we'll be back to Sherlock's POV. And we're actually in the home stretch! I believe there's only 3 chapters after this.   
> Hopefully next update won't be too far around the corner either! See you next time! ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Sherlock's POV in this chapter, and I think you'll all enjoy this one because it aims to answer some lingering questions about the past. Read away! :D

_ He lifts up the duvet and slips in beside her, careful not to wake her just yet and takes a moment to study her while she sleeps. _

_ It had been a difficult term for her, the hours long and they’d not been able to spend much time together in the last few weeks due to their mutual exams (though Molly was certainly more dedicated to them than he was).  _

_ But that had all ended yesterday, and they had a well earned holiday for about a week before starting all over again with the next term. He fully intended to make the most of it.  _

_ He pulled her closer, coaxing her body to mold to his and she moves willingly, even in her unconscious state, resting her head and hand over her chest as he lazily draped an arm around her.  _

_ “Sherlock, are you naked?” Her voice is sleepy and rough from sleep.  _

_ “I think that’s within your ability to deduce, Molly Hooper.” _

_ She slapped his chest lightly. “Sherlock, I have housemates, really, one of them could see!” _

_ He rolled his eyes.“The door is closed, they know me by now, and maybe you could move in with me and we could  _ **_both_ ** _ be naked anywhere in the house we pleased.” The statement was punctuated with a kiss to her forehead.  _

_ “Don’t fancy being your live-in housekeeper, thanks,” she mumbled in response, cuddling into him again, her arm sliding fully around his torso and hooking her leg over his.  _

_ “Of course not, you’d be too busy being the city’s best pathologist. Little time for dusting, thankfully.” _

_ “I’ll hardly be anything other than a harried student in Cambridge for another two years at least, and then hopefully a harried student in a teaching hospital for another three.” _

_ “Cambridge. Or Oxford. Or London.” He punctuated every school to which Molly had been accepted with a kiss to her face. “I have every faith that it will only be two years. They’d be idiots not to see you’re brilliant.” _

_ She lifted her head to smile at him before climbing fully onto him, kissing him deeply at his statement. Pretty soon, his nakedness proved to be an advantage as conversation was suspended for a while.  _

_ An hour later, Molly wrapped herself in the duvet as he stood up from the bed.“What will you be doing while I’m off being brilliant, then?” she asked.  _

_ “I might make a study of tobacco ash,” Sherlock answered wryly from his position by the window sill. He knocked a little of said ash off the end of the cigarette he’d lit as Molly wrinkled her nose.  _

_ He felt her stare quietly at him as he continued to smoke, and he was careful to blow the smoke out the open window. It was a habit that she didn’t like, but didn’t push him to stop. She was much more vocal about her displeasure regarding the heroin, giving it up being a condition she had set for him at the start of their relationship almost two years ago. Though in his mind, scientific experiments with it didn’t count. _

_ “You could solve crimes.” Her voice is open and honest, and it makes him swallow.  _

_ “Rather a waste of the chemistry degree, wouldn’t you say?” he replies. _

_ She shrugs. “Not necessarily. You’ve been doing it for years already on your own, and you’re wonderful at it. You really should carry on, join Scotland Yard.” _

_ He let out a small chuckle at that. “Not really one for following all those rules, Molly.” _

_ She let out a small sigh. “Yes, well. Maybe you could learn?” _

_ He raises a brow at her and she bites her bottom lip to stop a smile. _

_ “Ok, carry on your own then. Like a private investigator of some sort.” _

_ He stubbed out the cigarette and walked back over to the bed, wrapping his arms around her, duvet and all, placing a light kiss just below her ear. “Looking for stray cats and spouses, I suppose?” _

_ Molly let out a noise of frustration as he’d pinned her arms to her sides under the duvet and she struggled a bit to get at him, managing to wrestle him off of her enough so she ended up half on top of him.  _

_ “London.” _

_ He tilted his head in question.  _

_ Her smile grew fond. “You love London, Sherlock. Remember when we spent last summer holls there? I’d never seen you like that before. You….it’s like you came alive. You belong there.” _

_ He stared at her for what was likely a long time, but she’d learned to recognize when he was thinking and mercifully waited for him to finish processing. He registered that this meant that she’d decided where she would complete her studies. _

_ “London?” he said with a slow smile, as if testing out the word on his tongue. Something warm swam up his limbs at the thought. “Not a private investigator, though.” _

_ Molly frowned. “You won’t work for the Yard. Will you just make something up?” _

_ “Invent, Molly. Yes. What do you think about….consulting detective?” he said, lifting his chin loftily.  _

_ She grinned widely at him and leaned down to kiss him. “It’s really sexy,” she mumbled against his lips. _

* * *

 

The straightened knocker of 221B had been the first clue that the day had just gotten worse, so Sherlock was prepared for battle when he entered his flat and was greeted by the sight of Mycroft standing at his window.

“Coup ended too soon, brother mine?” Sherlock asked in an overly concerned tone.

The elder Holmes turned and threw his brother a snide smile. “You know why I’m here, Sherlock.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring the dogs this time,” Sherlock mumbled, roughly hanging up his coat and scarf. “Or could it be possible that you’re actually doing legwork yourself this time?”

“I thought that perhaps I could simply ask,” Mycroft replied. 

Sherlock’s eyes flicked over his brother: two days since the last cake, three days since the last international crisis, and a few hours since the last phone call with Mummy. He was bored and therefore that meant  _ meddlesome _ . “You can’t have surveillance in the flat, so no, I haven’t been using again, that answers your question, how very necessary to see you brother mine, do stop and see Mrs. Hudson for some biscuits on your way out, you’re looking a bit cranky.” Sherlock opened the front door in a sign of dismissal.

Mycroft ignored his brother and walked over to John’s chair, sitting carefully and crossing one leg over the other. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let the door slam shut, walking over to his violin and carefully applying resin to the bow, his back purposefully turned to his brother.

“Please, do try not to be boring, Sherlock,” Mycroft scolded with a sigh. “We’ve had this conversation before, and I really was hoping to never have to have it again.”

Sherlock tucked his violin under his chin and played a few notes, ones of a melody he was sure Mycroft would recognize as a composition of Eurus’. 

“You’re travelling down a dangerous path, Sherlock. I had thought that our sister had taught you a lesson, that you would tread more carefully than you have been these last months.”

“I’m living the life I’ve always lived, Mycroft, that’s not changed,” Sherlock replied.

“I suppose that’s true. You always have lived a life where you cared for Miss Hooper, haven’t you?” Mycroft leveled an even stare at his brother. “All hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage. You know this.”

Sherlock violently put down his instrument, his eyes flashing as he turned back to his brother. “No,  _ you _ know it! Because you’re the one that made sure all those years ago that hearts would be broken, mine and hers! Why? To prove a point? To make me as miserable as you are because you think that what happened with Eurus is somehow a reason to deny myself the possibility of joy? I learned when I was taking down Moriarty’s network: loneliness is no way to live. And every day I regret what happened with Molly.” 

His hands fisted and he closed his eyes as he took a few deep breaths, gathering his thoughts and emotions before meeting his brother’s eyes again. “I think so very differently now from what I was persuaded to think eight years ago.”

“Your habits--” Mycroft began but Sherlock cut him off.

“My use of drugs had nothing to do with Molly. In fact, it was her that kept me from dropping into the hole sooner than I did. After the first time we went to Sherringford and I’d sent Molly away, there was no stopping that particular downward spiral.”

Suddenly, Sherlock felt exhausted, dropping heavily into his leather chair, all the fight leaving him. The weight of what had happened was so much - not just with Molly, but with Mycroft, Eurus, Moriarty, even Magnussen, Mary and John…his whole life felt like he was keeping up with decisions being made for him, situations where he had little to no choices. “Molly brought out the best in me,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “She continues to believe that I’m the version of myself that I dearly wish to be.”

He felt a glass being pushed into his hands and he glanced up to see his brother also holding a finger of scotch. He gripped the glass and took a drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol down his throat.

“I’ll confess that I suspected this would the the case,” Mycroft said. “Though, you understand I had to be sure.” 

His lips lifted up into the tiniest of smiles. “Perhaps you are not the only one who thinks the choices made eight years ago perhaps could have been handled differently.” 

Sherlock’s gaze flickered to his brother in surprise. 

“What will you do, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, carefully sipping from his glass, eyes studying the younger man.

Sherlock turned the tumbler in his hands, watching how the light was caught by the glass. “By some miracle of God, Molly’s been brought back into my life. If friendship is all I can get, then I’ll take it with no input from you or anyone else.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that and stood up from his chair. He reached into the front pocket of his jacket and handed Sherlock the paper he pulled out. “My dear brother, I rather hoped you would aim a little higher.” 

As Mycroft walked out of the flat, Sherlock unfolded the paper, his eyes flicking over the words  _ List of Intended Marriages _ . His eyes stopped on the highlighted line that listed a Thomas James Hartfield as the groom, recognizing it immediately. His breath caught at the name of the bride and intended wedding date.

Downing the remaining scotch, Sherlock reached for his coat.  

* * *

 

It was barely a consciously decision when Sherlock flew from his flat and hailed a cab to Bart’s hospital. He might not have been able to explain it if asked. All he knew was that he needed to go, needed to see her, as if seeing her would somehow confirm or deny the almost unbelievably hopeful facts that his brother had handed him.

The hallways were quiet at that time of night and he could well imagine that Molly was working alone. That both thrilled and frightened him.

He checked the lab first, but found it to be occupied by one lab tech and no Molly Hooper to be found. So quickly down to the morgue he went. 

Sherlock approached the swinging double doors of the morgue slowly, thinking at first that perhaps she wasn’t working alone after all. He could hear her speaking, rather animatedly actually. He cautiously entered the first set of doors, but paused before pushing through the second, wondering if a colleague was present. He peered through the crack to take a peek inside.

There was Molly, standing at the foot of the exam tables which housed a couple of shrouded bodies with...some cue cards in her hands. Sherlock raised a brow in interest as he watched and listened. 

“Ok, let’s try this again,” Molly muttered to herself and cleared her throat as she looked out at the rather silent audience. “It’s so lovely to be here today, thank you all for coming. I’m so pleased to have the privilege of being Meena’s maid of honor as she and Tom celebrate the start of their new life together.”

Sherlock’s heart soared. It was true. Tom wasn’t involved with Molly at all. And in fact, he remembered Meena Sachdeva. Molly had been friends with her even back in University. He hadn’t been close with Meena but he recalled that she wasn’t altogether disapproving of Molly’s relationship with him. That made her somewhat memorable.

He turned his attention back to Molly’s little practice speech.

“It’s a lot of work of course, to get to a day like today. And I don’t just mean planning a wedding either. It’s also a lot of work to get to this place...in a relationship.” She paused and glanced at her cards. “There’s always some bumps in the road, aren't there? And sometimes it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I remember about a year back when Tom and Meena had broken up for quite a number of months since Tom had to take that internship in France. Meena had a number of tearful nights during that time.”

Molly glanced to her right and smiled, as if imagining her friend sitting right by her.  

“Don’t worry, Meena, this is going somewhere positive, I promise,” she said with a small laugh as she swiped a cue card out of the way. “I’m just telling this story because, well, it’s ok sometimes for those things to happen. Because that’s not enough to ruin something between two people...not if it’s the right kind of love.”

Sherlock swallowed hard as he listened, straining to keep his eyes on her through the small space between the doors. 

She faltered a little, shifting on her feet and chewing her lip as she shuffled the cards a bit and then continued on.

“I um, I told Meena back then that it would all work out and they’d be fine in the end. I knew they would be. Of course she was scared that he’d...forget her and move on. But I explained to her...promised her...that isn’t as easy as she imagined. I saw them together, the way they were and how they obviously felt. And I recognized what sort of devotion that was.”

Sherlock noted that as she reached this point, she dropped her arms down. No longer looking at the cue cards, but instead staring ahead and speaking from memory. Or perhaps it was from the heart.

“You can’t really forget something like that and move on.” She shook her head. “It’s not humanly possible, is it? In fact, I believe you shouldn’t be able to recover from a devotion like that...you don’t.”

She stopped and looked down for a moment before tilting her head back all the way as she let out a heavy breath and a little groan. She looked back toward the two person silent audience and clicked her tongue.

“I got a bit down at the end again, didn’t I? Got to stop doing that. It’s a wedding toast, so I should probably be a bit more smiley hm?” She crossed her arms over her middle. “Though, hopefully that crowd will be a bit warmer than you lot.”

Molly’s giggle at her own joke made Sherlock smile a little, despite the weighty emotions that were now surging through him. She was silent for another moment before speaking softly again.

“Weddings are supposed to be to be happy occasions, after all.” She let out a shaky little sigh.

Sherlock thought his heart might just break and crumble to pieces right inside his chest. He straightened up and impulsively placed a hand on one of the doors, pausing and considering what he might do next...what he might say. A million things rushed through his brain. 

He thought about bursting through the doors, taking her in his arms, kissing the lips that he’d missed so desperately all these years and swearing that he’d make sure she was never sad at a wedding again for the rest of her days. That he’d marry her right here and now if he could and wipe out any memory of sorrow that they’d ever endured. He’d dry any of her remaining tears with his kisses and they’d melt perfectly together as if they’d never been apart. 

But he also admitted to himself the possibility that a plan like that might not go as well as he dreamed. 

Molly was forlorn about their past, certainly, and had even admitted aloud that one doesn’t recover so easily form the sort of connection they had shared. And yes, this confirmed that she was currently single. But still, none of that guaranteed that she would want to commit her heart to _him_ _again._

Sherlock needed to think.

He slowly removed his shaking fingers from the morgue door and stepped back, glancing once more through the crack to see Molly shoving the cue cards in her lab coat pocket. He made sure she was ok, and that she was then going back to her work...and then he took his leave.

As Sherlock marched back down the hall and made his way out of the hospital again, he reminded himself that he had gotten the information he needed, what he hoped to get in the first place. It pained him in a way to apply the brakes and force himself to act with caution from here forward, but he also firmly believed it was the wise course. As ever, he had the mind of a scientist and a detective. Just a bit more data was needed.

Only then would he decide how to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned last time, we're in the home stretch here. A couple chapters more and this fic will be complete. Hopefully we'll be able to churn out the next update within the next week or two. We shall certainly do our best! Thanks again for reading and please do drop us a line! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands in glee* Oh boy, this is a fun one! And I might be mistaken, but I feel like I might have a little Moriarty-ish gleam in my eyes right about now lol...see you at the bottom hehe. ;)

“Oh gosh, this is exciting!”

Sherlock cracked an amused smile at Mary Watson beside him in the cab. “You do realize it’s just the annual Scotland Yard dinner dance.”

Mary and John glanced at each other and chuckled before Mary raised a brow at the detective. “Do you have a baby at home, Sherlock?”

“No.”

“Right, so you have no concept of how thrilling an evening like this is then. Bit different for John and I!” She pressed a quick kiss to her husband’s cheek. “A few hours of leisure time with adults and no little person hanging off our bodies is priceless!”

“And it’s especially fun considering how stunning you look,” John murmured in his wife’s ear, though it was loud enough for Sherlock to hear and roll his eyes.

“John, I am still in the cab. Could you manage to keep hands to yourself at least till we reach The Tate?”

“Oh, you’re just cranky because you’re not sure if  _ she’ll _ be there,” Mary teased sweetly. She reached over and gave his knee a pat. “I’m sure she will be, and perhaps you’ll get a chance to have a little chat.”

“I could have a little chat with her anytime I want. That’s not the problem,” Sherlock complained with a huff. “The problem is that I don’t know for sure what she...wants.”

“Sherlock, that’s sort of the point of talking to her,” John pointed out. “You have to ask her!”

“But I should be prepared what to expect!” Sherlock insisted. “We’re at least acquaintances now, perhaps even friends. If I suggest something that she’s not interested in then it could ruin what we’ve been able to rebuild!”

“Just relax, Sherlock,” Mary said soothingly. “I’m sure you’ll know what to do and what to say when the time comes.”

Sherlock didn’t have much more time to stew over his concerns. The cab arrived and dropped them at The Tate. He and the Watsons made their way to the already bustling terrace bar, the glittering lights and soft music spilling through the windows that looked out over the Thames. 

John and Mary went to the bar for drinks and Sherlock strolled over to the windows while covertly scanning the crowds. It took him less than twenty seconds to spot her. How could he miss her?

Molly Hooper lit up the room in a soft pink chiffon dress. She wore a large shimmery flower behind her ear that especially made her stand out among the crowd of more conservatively dressed guests. Sherlock smiled to himself, knowing that her profession would not have been obvious to any that didn’t already know her. As if she felt his gaze, she looked up from the conversation she was having with Mike Stamford’s girlfriend and looked directly at Sherlock.

Molly appeared instantly flustered, reaching down to smooth the skirt that wasn’t ruffled, to touch her hair that wasn’t out of place, and to adjust the sleeve of her dress which hadn’t left her shoulder. She blushed attractively and looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. But by that time, Sherlock was already crossing the room. 

His heart was pounding so hard that it hurt.

“Evening, Sherlock,” she greeted with a little nod, her other conversation having ended as Mike had come to escort his girlfriend to the dance floor. 

“Molly,” he stated softly, making no attempt to hide the way his eyes brightened at the sight of her. 

“You must be glad,” Molly said with a little smile. “That there’s dancing, I mean. I know how much you- well, at least you used to-”

“I still do,” Sherlock confirmed. “Though perhaps I have fewer opportunities to indulge now.” 

“Pity...you’re awfully good.”

The words caused a fresh blush to erupt on her cheeks and she lifted her glass to take a sip of the drink she was nursing. 

“I shall try to live up to the praise tonight.” He smirked playfully. “And how long will you be here this evening?

She hesitated a bit. “I um, I suppose I’m not quite sure yet.”

They both paused then, Sherlock unsure of how to proceed and deducing that Molly felt the same, for whatever reason on her end. He wondered if perhaps he should initiate some sort of honest conversation right there and then.

“Sherlock?”

The look in her eyes as she turned them upward to meet his made the air halt in his throat.  _ My God,  _ he thought.  _ Could she be planning to say something? _

“Yes, Molly?” he managed to breathe out.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, making him jump a bit.

“Hey, Molly, don’t you look lovely this evening,” John said kindly. “Don’t want to interrupt, but I wanted to let Sherlock know that Mary and I found our assigned table across the room. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Yes, fine, I’ll be there in a bit.” Sherlock attempted to give his friend a very clear non verbal message that now was not the time for him to be there.

“Um, actually,” Molly added. “I think I’ll just find my table as well. Sherlock, maybe I’ll see you later.” She gave him a quick smile and then turned to make her way through the crowds.

Sherlock turned to glare at John, causing realization to spread across the man’s features. His brows shot up.

“Oh- my God, were you about to-”

Sherlock sighed. “I have absolutely no idea, but we were talking. It’ll have to wait now, I suppose.”

“Well you should ask her to dance later!”

Sherlock answered while glancing over at Molly who had taken a seat with a small plate of appetizers. “Yes, I was considering it.”

“Well I promise I won’t interrupt  _ that  _ if I see you on the dance floor _.  _ Come on, cheer up. Let’s get you a drink.”

Sherlock reluctantly obliged and went to take a seat with John and Mary for a while. Greg came over and chatted happily soon after, seeming in a splendid mood, considering the evening was rather focused on him and his hardworking force. There were endless introductions and small talk that made Sherlock want to roll his eyes and storm off in a huff, but he held tight to the idea that this night just may prove useful in his attempt to get closer to Molly and figure out for sure what was now in her head and heart. 

He was distracted from his thoughts though, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Well, well! Didn’t think you’d bother to show up for this.”

Sherlock stood to face Janine as he grinned. “John and Mary made sure I’d be here,” he lied. “And you...isn’t this a two hour train ride from Sussex?”

Janine shrugged with a playful smile. “This is for the police force. I never could resist a man in uniform.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said with a thoughtful expression. “Well then I’d say it never would have worked between us anyway.”

Janine gave his arm a little pinch. “You might not be in uniform, but you’re probably the best one here on the dance floor. I’d better get at least one waltz out of you tonight, Mister.”

Sherlock hoped he wouldn’t be free later. Perhaps he’d dance with Molly, they’d take a stroll outside, get to talking...no, he didn’t want to promise Janine any of his time later in the evening. He smiled and extended his hand.

“How about right now?”

“Ooh, aren’t you eager?” she laughed. She set her shawl and clutch down on the chair and accepted his hand and invitation to the dance floor.

Sherlock whisked her onto the dance floor and instantly into the rhythm of the song. He never had had any true romantic feelings for Janine, but they certainly did have some fun together. She was bright and energetic and seemed to have a knack for letting his oddities simply roll off her back. She knew who he was and what he was, and knew that ultimately they were better as friends.

They swept comfortably across the floor and Sherlock began obliging Janine’s request for deductions about some of the men that were visible from where they were dancing. As usual, she very much valued his helpful hints and opinions. It was also awfully entertaining. They were both soon laughing while turning and swaying back and forth.

But a minute or two into the dance, Sherlock happened to glance over Janine’s shoulder...and see Molly staring straight at them. The look in her eyes told him that she was quite in the dark about the true nature of this dance, and that it was giving her quite a different impression than he would have wanted.

As he turned Janine around a bit again, he lost sight of Molly momentarily. When he was able to glance in her direction again, he realized she wasn’t there. And as he scanned the room further, his stomach dropped when he caught sight of her heading toward the door with her coat and bag.

Without thinking, Sherlock let go of Janine’s waist and hand and sprinted after Molly. He just barely caught up to her before she was through the door.

“Molly!”

She turned and looked back at him, a bit of hardness in her eyes again; the kind that he hadn’t seen as often anymore.

“A-are you leaving now?” he questioned breathlessly.

Molly nodded and gave him a tight smile. “I um, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay late. And besides, I’ve got this...conference that Bart’s is sending me on tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a few days. May as well pack,” she said with a weary shrug.

Sherlock felt desperation rising in his chest, choking him as he wished he could keep a better grasp on what was right in front of him. And with his magnificent mind, he couldn’t think of anything terribly eloquent to say.

“You can’t stay? Just for a little while longer.” Even to him, his voice sounded a bit childish, but his plan was quickly slipping through his fingers, being crushed into dust with every second that passed.

Molly’s chocolate eyes clouded just a bit and her expression became more somber as she softly answered him.

“There’s nothing for me to stay for.”

Sherlock actually reached a hand up and clutched at his middle as she turned and left through the doors. He could have sworn he’d just been punched right in the gut, the pain spreading with every breath. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed frozen there, but it was once again Janine’s voice that made him turn.

“Ooh, you really are a loon, aren’t you?”

Janine stood there with her arms crossed over her middle and shaking her head a bit. 

Sherlock clenched his jaw and let his arms fall heavily at his sides. “And how much of that did you hear?”

“Most of it,” she answered casually as she looped her arm into his. “Not that I needed to hear all the gory details. Body language and longing gazes told me just about all I needed.” 

Without asking, she walked them back into the main room and over to the terrace to step out into the night air. He welcomed the change of scenery and break from the noise of the crowd. To Janine’s credit, she didn’t give him an earful about it all. Not right away. They both leaned against the railing, looking out on the darkened view in silence. Eventually she did speak.

“She’s a  _ real  _ ex, isn’t she?”

Sherlock sideways glance was enough of an answer

“I had my theories after that day at Baker St recently, but I wasn’t quite sure. I mean, it is you! I couldn’t exactly to jump to conclusions,” she said, giving him a friendly nudge.

His mouth turned downward. “I was an idiot, Janine. You can’t imagine how much,” he confessed quietly.

“Dunno, I can imagine quite a bit.”

He couldn’t help cracking a smile at that comment.

“Look, Sherl, it really doesn’t matter how much of an idiot you were before.”

This produced a disbelieving huff from his lips.

“I mean it!” Janine insisted more firmly. “I don’t care how many stupid decisions you made before. If you love her now, and you obviously do, then what matters is what you do about it  _ now.  _ Don’t make another mess of things if you’re being handed a second chance. _ ”  _

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off almost instantly.

“And don’t try to tell me you don’t know if she wants another go, because you’ll never know if you don’t talk to her!”

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. “Yes, I’m well aware by now that I do in fact need to speak honestly to her. The Watsons have offered the very same counsel.” He sighed. “But she is out of town for the next few days, so I suppose I’ll need to wait now.”

Janine reached over and gave his hand a pat atop the terrace railing. “You’ll do fine, Sherl. You have a way with words when you put your mind to it. Besides, I’m pretty sure you already have a good chance with her.”

He turned and raised a brow. “You think so?”

Janine nodded and gave him one of her brilliant smiles. “Ooh, I’d say so. You’re not the only one who can make deductions. Pity you don’t still have a vacancy!”

* * *

 

_ He hesitated just outside the door of the coffee shop, just under the awning, keeping himself out of the rain that was assaulting Oxford on this cold March afternoon. _

_ Molly sat in his direct line of sight, at a small table surrounded by study books, holding a highlighter between two fingers as she took a sip of something probably heavily caffeinated. Her hair was shorter than he’d ever seen it, and she was alarmingly thin. His eyes flitted on her person further: her father had obviously died within the last three months.  _

_ He felt his jaw clench at the thought of life being that unfair to Molly Hooper.  _

_ It had been three years since he’d last spoken to her, three years since he found out  the truth of his twisted family secrets and the plagues of his own mind, since he’d made what he suspected would be the biggest mistake of his life.  _

_ The arguments he’d had with Mycroft echoed in his head, the reminders of what a mistake sentiment was. He wasn’t built for anything that would last, wasn’t able to think of others enough to really commit to any sort of relationship long term. He’d been a fool to think otherwise.  _

_ And even if he had, who’s to say he couldn’t lose Molly just as he’d lost Victor? Sherlock could barely take care of himself, and really spent more time under the control of the drugs than his own strength, even in spite of Molly’s protestations of it. Mycroft was right: Sherlock would have eventually learned to ignore her wishes on that account. Eurus had laughed at him, her sing-song voice echoing in his ears about the nonsense in his own mind, about his willingness to drown it in any way that he could because he couldn’t handle it.  _

_ Molly would find her peace and happiness, far away from him, his psychopathic siblings, and his own vices. She was resilient, she would make her own life a stellar success without him.  _

Passing fancy.

Pretend.

_ No more of that now. His logical mind prevailed in the end, and so he was back in control, back on a path that would let him go on and make a life for himself. The last few months in rehab had seen to getting back where he needed to be. He would go to London, get on with the life he’d put on hold.  _

_ A life that still did not include Molly Hooper. _

**_Alone is what protects me._ **

_ “In or out, mate?” A gruff voice sounded from behind him, and Sherlock realized that he’d drifted to the doorway of the shop, his hand on the door handle. He looked back to the man trying unsuccessfully to keep from getting wet by seeking refuge in the shop. Sherlock quickly let go of the handle, and without giving a backwards glance stepped into the rain, walking away with his hand buried deep in his pockets. _

_ Good Lord, he wanted a cigarette. _

* * *

 

“Ooh, how is he?” Mrs. Hudson asked worriedly as she handed the tea tray to John. “He seemed in just awful spirits last night.”

“Yeah, well the party didn’t go quite as well as he’d hoped.” John glanced over his shoulder to make sure Sherlock was still busy writing down musical notes. 

“Molly?” Mrs. Hudson mouthed.

John nodded.

She clicked her tongue. “The poor silly man...he can’t get out of his own way, can he?”

“Can’t argue with that.” John stepped aside to let her exit the kitchen. “I’ll try to find a nice case for him today. Maybe a bit of distraction will be just the thing while Molly is away at a conference.”

Mrs. Hudson gave his cheek a pat. “You’re a good man.”

After she took her leave John settled in by the fireplace and poured two cups for himself and Sherlock. This prompted Sherlock to set his music aside and take a seat. His mood was still obviously gloomy though. 

“Sherlock,” John said through clenched jaw. “If you sigh one more time…”

“You’re in my flat, John. I can sigh all I like!”

“Just keep it together for a few minutes, alright, mate?” He took a sip of tea and then set it down to grab Sherlock’s laptop and open it up to check emails. “I’ll find something here, I’m sure.”

“Better be something good,” Sherlock grumbled, as if John Had the power to control the cases that filtered through his inbox.

John bit back any response and tried to focus on scrolling through the couple dozen emails. But he didn’t get far. His eyes quickly latched onto on received only about an hour before...an email from Molly.

“Hey, Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

“Have you- you haven’t checked your emails this morning yet, have you?”

“No, why?”

John opened the full email and then turned the laptop to face his friend. “Because I think this is one you’ll wanna read for yourself.”

Sherlock sat up from his slouch, intrigued, and took the laptop from John. As his eyes fell on the page, his heart instantly began to do double time. And he only had to get as far as the introduction to realize that things were about to change.

_         Dearest Sherlock, _

_              I can’t stand to keep silent any longer... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we cruel, or are we cruel? Yes, I know, we're cruel. :) But all will be revealed in the next and LAST chapter! Should be fun! Thanks for reading this one and we look forward to hearing your thoughts. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta Da! I know we left off at an awfully cruel place last time, but hopefully this chapter will make up for it. Any who are familiar with Jane Austen's Persuasion will likely know where this chapter is headed. It was fun stuff to write! Ok, enjoy reading! ;D

_ The last of the sun’s rays had disappeared from the skyline moments ago and Sherlock watched the sky turn from bright orange to a light pink, the chemicals in the atmosphere reflecting the last of the sunlight as he let out a lung full of cigarette smoke. The sounds of drunken graduates ruin the enjoyment of the moment, the sound of laughter and general merriment for a perceived high achievement grating to his ears. He peels himself off the side of the wall, stubbing out the cigarette beneath his shoe and walking with hands in pockets towards the Camb. He’d long ago loosened his bow tie, having given his parents the slip right after the graduation ceremony, hoping to be able to spend the rest of the evening with Molly. But her father had come to visit and she had gone to dinner with him. Sherlock had bowed out of that, not quite comfortable with his own family, much less anyone else’s. And really, as cliche as it was, Sherlock felt that maybe it was not yet time to introduce himself to her father.  _

_ Eventually he would, of course. Molly and her father were close and even Sherlock recognized that if he and Molly were going to be living together in London, he would have to meet her father. Maybe then, Sherlock would be able to make a better impression, less the peaky boy that he’d often felt, even while in uni, but more like the man that would be worthy of a woman like Molly Hooper. _

_ He continued walking past busy streets, winding his way back towards King’s College, his nerves being grated as he got stopped occasionally by a celebrating classmate he’d never spoken to. Molly was right: the anonymity of London is just what he needed, the pulse of the city what made his bones sing. They could probably afford a small flat somewhere near the center of the city. Molly was sure to be busy with her medical studies, and he could see if maybe the Met would consider him for a consultant position, at least until he could find his feet.  _

_ “Holmes, old man!” _

_ Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard the voice of Sebastian Wilkes coming up from behind him on the bridge over the Cam. The usual group of cronies hanging around him, very close to being three sheets to the wind, bottles hanging loosely from their fingers.  _

_ “Really will miss this place, won’t we?” Sebastian went on, throwing his arm heavily around Sherlock’s shoulders, hand flinging out of the regal stone buildings around them. _

_ “No,” Sherlock replied dryly, shrugging the other man off. _

_ “Oh but we’ve had some good times, haven’t we Holmes?” Sebastian went on as one of the others sniggered. “I honestly will miss you and your little magic tricks, no matter how much it put us in hot water. Though I must say that time with Saunderson might have made you quite the divine creature in my book.” Sebastian made a show of looking around. “Speaking of divine creatures, where is that pretty young thing you’ve had about your person? Wanted to give her a goodbye and goodluck kiss, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” _

_ Sherlock clenched his jaw. “She would mind, and I think that’s the only opinion that matters.” _

_ “SHERLOCK!” _

_ The attention of all the young men on the bridge turned towards the cry coming from the river, where the woman in question was heading towards them on a hired punting boat.  _

_ “MOLLY HOOPER, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Sherlock yelled back at her, watching as she stood up on the boat, desperately trying to keep her balance.  _

_ “I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU!” she yelled back, the boat coming closer to the bridge and he could see her smile in the twilight. “I LOVE YOU, SHERLOCK HOLMES!”  _

_ There were whoops and cheers from all around them as Sherlock gripped the railing tightly, his jaw slackened as his brain processed the fact that Molly had just cried out her feelings for an unworthy wretch such as himself in front God and everyone else.  _

_ A clap on the back snapped him out of it as she and her boat slipped under the bridge.  _

_ “Cheerio, old man,” Sherlock said to Sebastian, unable to stop the grin that grew on his face. “Do keep in touch.” _

_ With that, he sprinted to the other side of the bridge, not pausing for a moment to leap over the railing and falling squarely into the passing punt below.  _

_ Molly screamed as he landed, earning him a series of colorful swears and more whoops and cheers from the people on the bank: he ignored them all in favor of wrapping his arms around the most extraordinary woman he knew and kissing her thoroughly. _

* * *

 

Less than sixty seconds into reading Molly’s email, Sherlock shoved the laptop back at John and jumped up from his chair.

“Hey, Wh-where are you going?” John stuttered. “What did she say?”

“Not through yet,” Sherlock shot back while throwing his coat on. “But I need to catch her before she leaves. I’ll read the rest on my way.”

“Sherlock!” John called before his friend bolted through the door, which made him turn. “Go get her.”

He smiled at John and gave him a nod, then wasted no time in rushing from his flat to catch a cab.

The second that Sherlock was sitting in a cab and had given Molly’s address, he opened the email on his mobile and continued reading, excitedly devouring every little word…

_ Dearest Sherlock, _

_ I can’t stand to keep silent any longer. I’ve been keeping my feelings tucked away for far too long now and they’re beginning to burn a hole inside me. Sherlock, I’m so afraid right now. As awful as it was to lose you all those years ago, I’m even more terrified at the possible pain of losing a second chance with you. Please tell me I’m not too late. Please tell me that those precious feelings we shared aren’t gone forever. I know mine certainly are not. My devotion to you has never truly died. Yes, I was angry and bitter and I admit wanting you to feel that. But never ever did my heart belong to anyone else. I’d tell you a thousand times over, just as I did long ago, that you can have me. That has never changed, not really. Please don’t mistake any coldness or nervousness for a change of heart. I’ve just been so afraid to admit how much I still...I still love you. I hadn’t been brave enough to speak the words till now, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been true. It’s always been true, Sherlock. Always. _

_ Every word I write makes me doubt myself a bit. I’m torn between agony and hope. I can’t help remembering the way you so quickly were willing to let me go eight years ago. But then, some of the moments we’ve shared recently; words and looks we’ve exchanged...it’s made me think that perhaps our hearts are in more agreement than each of us have yet admitted.  _

_ I’m leaving today, as you know. It might seem cowardly to be sending this email on my way out of town, but I imagined that it could be a kindness to you. Giving you time to read and then think it over before seeing me again and having to give me any sort of answer. One word or one look from you will tell me whether we still have a chance or not. And I swear that any answer you give will be enough for me, as long as it’s honest and what  _ **_you_ ** _ truly want.  _

_ I’ll be back in four days, and I hope we’ll be able to talk as soon as possible.  _

_ Love, _

_ Molly xxx _

Sherlock released a shaky breath as he lowered his phone upon finishing the email. His heart was thudding in his chest and he felt like his whole body was on fire. He could tell he was currently fueled by adrenaline, anticipation...and of course the freshly stoked flame of all consuming love for Molly Hooper.

It felt like the cab took an age to reach her flat, but he finally arrived and jumped out, having the foresight to tell the cabbie to wait. 

Sherlock rang the bell, pounded on the door, and tried peering into the window of the building that he knew belonged to her. His heart sunk as he realized that she had clearly already gone. He realized then that he needed to at least figure out where she was. He searched his brain to try to remember if she had mentioned the location of the conference and he’d simply missed it, but after a few moments, it was obvious that he didn’t have the information so he broke down and dialed her mobile. Despite not wanting to do any of this over the phone, he was further disappointed when the call went directly to her voice mail. 

He hung up, jaw clenched in frustration as he climbed back in the cab. She’d probably shut off her mobile to save battery during her travels. But Sherlock was far from exhausting all his options. He had one more idea left. He scrolled quickly through his mobile contacts, and dialed Mike Stamford. But forty five seconds later he let out a growl and hung up as Mike’s cheery voicemail message began playing. Sherlock had absolutely no time for leaving a message right now. He needed to get information, and get it now.

He pulled up to Bart’s hospital fifteen minutes later and leapt out while again asking the cabbie to wait for him there. Sherlock sprinted in and made his way directly to Mike Stamford’s office, bursting in with barely a knock.

“Sherlock! You surprised me just a bit!” Mike said with a laugh after jumping almost a foot out of his chair. 

“Mike, I need you to help me,” he stated breathlessly, leaning over the desk. “Molly just left for a professional conference this morning. It’s urgent that I find her! Where is the conference located?”

“Hm, let’s see…” Mike typed away on his keyboard, frustratingly slowly by Sherlock’s estimation. He scanned the screen for a moment and then finally looked back at Sherlock. “Ah, it looks like she was headed to a week long lecture held at Cambridge University.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he whipped out his phone to search train schedules, speaking aloud to himself as he did.

“Molly lives nearest to Kings Crossing. She sent that email a bit over an hour ago, apparently shutting her mobile off when leaving home. So likely sending it just a little while before leaving her flat, which means she’d probably be taking the...eleven fifteen train!”

He quickly clapped Stamford on the arm. “Thank you, Mike, you’ve been very helpful! Got to run!”

“O-ok, bye!” Mike called after him, though Sherlock might not have been listening.

He flew back out to the cab, barking out instructions to hurry to King’s Crossing station as he hurriedly purchased a ticket to Cambridge on the next available train. But even as the cab began moving, Sherlock was nervously glancing at his watch, knowing very well that he might not make it.

By the time they’d got near Euston Road, Sherlock knew that he couldn’t rely on the cabbie anymore.

“Stop the cab, please! Stop! Yes, right here!”

The cab came to a halt and Sherlock shoved some notes into the front seat. He briskly thanked the driver and hopped out. If he ran from here, he might just catch her. 

Sherlock’s legs carried him the full three more blocks, caring nothing for everyone who stared and wondered what he was running from. Little did they know, it was more important what he was running  _ to.  _

He finally reached the station and slowed only briefly to read the signs, finding which platform on which the train to Cambridge was to arrive. Once reaching the correct platform, he began scanning the crowd for any sign of a petite woman with a long brown ponytail. For one terrifying moment he wondered if he’d miscalculated and missed her completely. The thought of waiting days more to speak to her in person made his lungs feel close to collapse. But then…

He glanced around one of the pillars, further down the platform, and there she was. 

She stood next to her almost childish floral printed luggage with hands in her pockets as she gazed down the tracks in anticipation of her train’s arrival. The sight of her instantly drove her name from his lips.

“Molly!”

She whirled around and even at a distance Sherlock could see how wide with shock her eyes had become. He could detect some obvious trepidation. But as he advanced, moving a bit closer to her, he also saw the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. That was more than enough to reward him for his search.

He stopped short a couple paces away from her, still catching his breath from all the rushing around. He swallowed thickly as they spoke first with their eyes before their lips. It already felt like the best conversation they’d had since all their years apart. Finally, Sherlock briefly raised his mobile up as he spoke.

“Your email,” he whispered.

“Y-you...you came after me,” Molly stated, a bit awestruck. 

He nodded, taking another step closer, feeling as if her eyes were pulling him in whether he wished to be nearer or not. But he did, of course. There was nothing he wished for more.

As he stepped within arm’s reach of her, it occurred to him that in his haste, he hadn’t exactly planned out what to say. He’d read that email and rushed to find her, but there wasn’t much beyond that. If he were honest, he wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to say anyway. Sherlock was surprised to find that he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice at the moment. 

“Molly.” 

His lips formed her name more than spoke it aloud. And as he did, he reached up to place his palm on her cheek, a flood of relief washing over him as he saw her eyes shut and lips lift in a smile at the contact. It had been far too long since he’d witnessed what the touch of his hand could do to her expression.

“Yes, I came after you,” Sherlock finally murmured. “And it was long... _ long  _ overdue. If I had realized to what extent your feelings for me remained, I certainly would have sought you out sooner. Even not knowing, I should have gone to you and at least tried. I should have gone to you the very moment that I knew what a colossal mistake I’d made. I never  _ never  _ should have allowed my brother to get in my head like that. Nothing he said changed how deeply I loved you, so it shouldn’t have kept us apart.”

He gently wiped some of the tears off her cheeks as he spoke, and he considered it a privilege. How many tears had fallen down this precious face with nobody there to dry them? Too many, he felt very sure.

Sherlock brought his other hand up as well, stepping toe to toe with her as he cupped both sides of her face and looking intently into her brown eyes. He leaned forward slowly, watching her expression carefully, being sure not to move too quickly. But finally, his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt himself exhale in a sigh, and heard her do the same, both releasing year's worth of unnecessary pain and loneliness. His thumbs moved gently back and forth over her face, musing that with his eyes closed like this, he could almost imagine they had gone back in time. She felt the same, smelled the same, her unsteady breaths sounded the same. It was the first time in over eight years that he could feel as if nothing had changed. And it was glorious.

Molly pulled back though, bringing her hands up to wrap around his, her thumbs moving in the same sort of desperate pattern against his skin. He watched her swallow thickly.

“There’s...there’s a million things to say,” she said, her voice breaking between multiple words. “Still a million questions to ask and be answered. But I...I only want to ask one thing for right now. Just one.”

Sherlock nodded, encouraging her to go on.

Molly sniffled a little, and her expression crumpled in another small sob, just a bit of fear showing itself again, which made his heart break. She reached up, almost desperately, grasping the lapels of his coat as she spoke again.

“Are you sure, Sherlock? Absolutely sure this time?”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, afraid emotion might overtake him as well. But when he opened them again, it was with a renewed fire and passion that shone into hers.

“I am,” he stated firmly, a small smile on his lips. “I am more sure, more determined, than I have ever been. And I swear to you that nothing... _ nothing... _ will persuade me to feel otherwise.”

Tears continued to fall as a grin blossomed on Molly’s lips. And it occurred to Sherlock that these were finally truly happy tears that graced her cheeks. Those were the only kind he ever wished to cause her from this day forward.

They collided in a kiss which, at least to Sherlock, didn’t really seem to have been decided on by either of them. It was as if they were simply coming together again, because that was how it should be. That’s how it always should have been. 

As they were wrapped tightly together, greedily tasting what they’d both been starved of for too long, the sound of a train’s approaching horn blew from far off. Neither of them cared much though. Even as the rushing wind of the train blew their coats and hair some moments later, and bunches of people passed them on either side, they remained unmoving. Nothing was worth letting go anymore.

Finally though, Molly pulled back and glanced over to see the waiting train. She looked back at Sherlock and gave him a little smile and shrug.

“Timing could be better, I suppose.”

He didn’t appear terribly put off. “How do you mean?” 

“Well, I do have to get on this train,” she explained, with a little nod toward her awaiting transportation.

“Mm, that you do,” Sherlock agreed, tucking some of her hair back in place which he’d been responsible for messing a bit. “ And considering the circumstances, I certainly hope you booked a double or a queen at your accommodations in Cambridge. This seems the wrong time for a room with two twin beds.”

Molly bit her lip and grinned wide. 

“Molly Hooper,” he went on with a little gleam in his eyes. “I am not leaving your side again. Not till we’re finally as we should be...husband and wife.”

A fresh sob erupted from Molly’s lips and she lifted on tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and nestle her face against his neck. After a rather loud kiss against his jawline, she pulled back and smiled at him.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because by my side is exactly where I’d like you to be right now.”

Sherlock and Molly gathered up her bags and boarded the train hand in hand that morning, feeling weightless and free in a way that they hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Yes, there was more to be said and there was much more to be explained and expressed. But the one thing that needed no clarifying or discussing was that it would all be worked out  _ together.  _ Because that was how it should be, how they should be. And this was certainly how they would stay.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy sigh* So as you might be able to see by the chapter count, this actually isn't the last one. There will be an epilogue coming very soon as well! Yay! Thanks again for reading and see you on the last one! ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Here we are at the actual end! Enjoy this last little bit and we'll see you on the other side... ;)

_Molly felt her father’s eyes on her and she gave him a smile over her shoulder._

_“Hey, Da,” she said, continuing to unpack her suitcase. It was really good to be able to be back in her old room again: there was a comfort to it, to feel like there was solid ground beneath her feet, to feel a place with unquestioned love._

_“Happy to be home, Molls?” her father asked, coming to stand beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders._

_“So happy,” she replied honestly, tossing a notebook on her bed and smiling at him._

_“Need a hand, then?” he asked, coming around and refolding her hastily folded pile of jumpers. “Is it that cold in Oxford that you’ve come home with more jumpers?”_

_“They’re comfortable!” Molly argued, laughing along with her father as he held one of the articles in question up to himself._

_“And see, you like them.”_

_“Aye, that I do,” he agreed, setting down the folded jumper. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor as he reached for the next one and he bent down to retrieve a carefully cut out newspaper clipping. Intrigued, he unfolded it, the headline saying_

_“Mystery cracked!” and as his eyes skimmed the article, he knew what this was about._

_“Molly…” he began._

_Molly’s eyes fell onto what her father was reading. Quickly, she snatched the paper from him. “Oh, that’s just a bit of fluff to make sure nothing got wrinkled,” she fibbed, balling it up and tossing into the bin. “Nothing important.”_

_The look on her father’s face told her he didn’t believe it for a moment. “Molly, has that lad come around again? Is he bothering--”_

_“No! No,” Molly hastily interrupted. “I haven’t heard...I haven’t even seen…” She let out a long sigh. “It’s been over a year, and I don’t know anything about him. Don’t fret, Da.” She squeezed his hand and he returned it, giving her a small nod in understanding. The worry didn’t leave his eyes._

_“My new friend Meena should be arriving any moment,” Molly said brightly, changing to a less dangerous subject and smiling at her father, closing her suitcase with a thump. “Maybe we should go make the tea?”_

_She tried to ignore the sad indulgent smile that her father gave her. “Sounds like a great idea, Molls.”_

_She waits until he’s out of the room before hesitating over the wastebasket for a moment and reaching in and to pull out the balled up paper. Smoothing it out, her fingers touch the words...touch the memories. Agonizing as they may be, they’re as much a part of her as her own skin. Sucking in a breath, she quickly places the paper under her pillow and walks out, nearly slamming the door behind her._

* * *

 

“Stop fidgeting, everyone is staring,” she hissed at him, placing her hand over his to get him to stop the drumming of his fingers on the white tablecloth. 

“Everyone is either looking at their food still or making conversation with each other, no one is staring,” he retorted, but his words were tempered by his sliding his fingers between hers, lifting them to place a kiss on her third knuckle, just above her rings. 

“Picture, please?” The photographer popped up out of nowhere and both Sherlock and Molly paused to allow their photo to be captured, one of them more willingly than the other. 

Molly lifted her eyebrows at him as if to say ‘you see?’ and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Being the center of attention was surprisingly not one of Sherlock’s fortes, especially once the audience was bigger than about half a dozen. But there was nothing for it: they were at the head table and attention was going to naturally gravitate there.

Molly’s eye caught the light that reflected off her engagement ring. She remembered the day that she and Sherlock had returned from Cambridge and Sherlock presenting it to her on bent knee. She hadn’t been able to see through the tears as he’d explained that the ring had been intended for her from the beginning, and he apologized that it had taken him eight years to finally complete his errand to obtain it for her.

They’d spent many days in the process of re-opening their hearts to one another, to finding the way to address what had happened and what had kept them apart all those years. 

Sherlock had stayed true to his word: he hadn’t left her side until they were married.

“At what point can we sneak out of here, Missus Holmes?” Sherlock leaned over to whisper into his wife’s ear, his voice dropping to be heavily suggestive.

Molly felt her cheeks warm up. “Not _now_ ,” she whispered back, despite her instinctive desire to be alone with him and show him exactly how she felt about seeing him in his morning suit. “It would be entirely scandalous, Mister Holmes!” 

This made Sherlock grin all the more. “How scandalous?” Somehow, his hand had managed to find her knee beneath her long dress under the table. 

A throat cleared just to their left and Molly jumped as if she’d been caught doing something far worse. The wedding director gave her pointed look and Molly knew it was time. Swatting away Sherlock’s hand, she tidied her hair and sat up a little straighter.

A glass was tinkled and there was a call of “pray silence for the matron of honor!” All eyes swung over to her.

Sherlock gave her fingers as quick squeeze as Molly stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress and holding a set of cards. She smiled nervously.

“Hello, everyone! I’m Molly Holmes, the matron of honor. It’s just really lovely to be here this evening as we all come together for Tom and Meena’s wedding. I’m so glad that I could support them on this very special day. I feel like I’ve known them both a lifetime, and I can’t think of two people who are more deserving of a happy life together.”

She glanced down at her cards nervously before meeting the eyes of the bride and groom. They gave her warm smiles and she felt herself relaxing as she returned them. “It’s hard to believe today, but there was a time when both of them worried that perhaps they weren’t meant to be and that the timing would never be right and life would just keep getting in the way. Obviously, they were very wrong! I’m not surprised. I have to say that I never really gave up hope that they’d find their way back to each other and it would all work out in the end. And I think that sometimes, even when there’s some heartache along the way, that can be ok. In hindsight, sometimes we can see that things happened at just the right time and just the right place. And besides, how much more grateful are we when we finally get what we want after hoping for so very long? The realization of that hope can be just...priceless.” Molly glanced down to meet the eyes of her husband, feeling her smile grow as she looked back to her good friends. “And certainly worth keeping forever. I wish for you both to always remember that. So...please be upstanding and raise your glasses to the dear bride and groom! And let’s all enjoy celebrating with them!”

Glasses were raised and clinked, and applause flooded the room as Meena and Tom kissed. 

Molly sat back down, lacing her fingers through Sherlock’s again as she let go a sigh of relief. She would convince Sherlock to stay until at least they’d managed to dance a bit, knowing full well that he would be more than pleased to do so, before taking off to a long-delayed honeymoon of their own courtesy of her brother-in-law. 

She hadn’t met Mycroft Holmes until after she and Sherlock were married, and in the few months since then, she had managed to understand him much better. There is a naturalness of sentiment and attachment that grows from genuine love, and Molly saw that Mycroft had been less gifted in this part of understanding than his younger brother. But Molly could also see that he was a very good man, and if his second objective was to be sensible and well judging, his first was for the happiness of his brother, who Molly now better understood to have had his fair share of sufferings from a very early age. Mycroft really did love Sherlock more than he loved his own abilities, and so when the awkwardness of the first few meetings passed, he readily and easily became fond of Molly and was quickly making his way into becoming very much like her own brother, making sure that he could secure her happiness and safety by any means necessary.

Molly’s sister-in-law was still a mystery. The circumstances of her existence being what they were, Molly understood that it would likely be a long time before they met in person, but through Sherlock she was learning about her and hoped to be able to understand her better. For better or worse, Eurus Holmes was now a part of Molly’s family, and they would continue to make the most of what they had.

Yes, their lives had finally come to the crossroads, where dreams intersect with with the path they’d been so long accustomed to: they could now build on all the hopes of years ago and reach a destination of near perfect contentment. The threat of danger was the only thing that could dim her sunshine, but she gloried in being the wife of the world’s only consulting detective, much in the way that she observed that Sherlock boasted about her profession as often as was tolerable (and even when it wasn’t). There was much more to come, roads to travel, adventures to have, and now they would be able to do so in the completeness of having each other. 

This was the beginning of a life well lived. 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexie and I are so pleased with this fic! Mostly because we just had a lot of fun planning and making it come together. And it was just kind of exciting since this was our first writing collaboration. We've worked together with a combo of fic and art, but never taking equal part in writing till this. Yay for teamwork! I can confidently speak for both of us when I say that we very much enjoyed the whole process, including the really lovely reception you readers gave us. Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos, we're so glad you had fun (and a little agony lol) right along with us. So long, and till next time! ;D


End file.
